Tag Archives: Poetry

HOW WE SHOULD FEEL (WAYS OF PARADOX) — SEVENTY HETERONYMS

Henry’s been dead a long time in that ghost
Wood, planted somewhere ‘tween truth
And fiction, taking and taken advantage of,

Like mice at dusk on a cool summer evening,
Maybe in Patagonia, never lying or lied to,
Especially after a fresh haircut, listen,

He went West still longing for Slavic heat,
Knowing we’re nowhere near there, we’re still
East, seeing it all as terrifying but hilarious.

via HOW WE SHOULD FEEL (WAYS OF PARADOX) — SEVENTY HETERONYMS

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SOMEWHERE IN THE FUTURE I AM REMEMBERING TODAY

Somewhere in the future I am remembering today. I’ll bet you
I’m remembering how I walked into the park at five thirty,
my favorite time of day, and how I found two cold pitchers
of just poured beer, sitting there on the bench.

I am remembering how my friend Chip showed up
with a catcher’s mask hanging from his belt and how I said

great to see you, sit down, have a beer, how are you,
and how he turned to me with the sunset reflecting off his contacts
and said, wonderful, how are you.

– David Berman, from “The Charm of 5:30” (Actual Air)

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FORGET

Forget the suffering
You caused others.
Forget the suffering
Others caused you.
The waters run and run,
Springs sparkle and are done,
You walk the earth you are forgetting.

Sometimes you hear a distant refrain.
What does it mean, you ask, who is singing?
A childlike sun grows warm.
A grandson and a great-grandson are born.
You are led by the hand once again.

The names of the rivers remain with you.
How endless those rivers seem!
Your fields lie fallow,
The city towers are not as they were.
You stand at the threshold mute.

– Czesław Miłosz (translated by Jessica Fisher and Bożena Gilewska)

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WHO IS GOING TO REPROACH CZESŁAW MIŁOSZ?

Who is going to reproach me for lack of precision, who would recognize the places or the people? My power is absolute, everything there belongs to one man now, who once, a student from Wilno, arrived there in a dogcart.

– Czesław Miłosz, “The Wormwood Star”

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IN ORDER TO REWRITE

I write my poems in order to be able to forget them.

– John Ashbery

Certainly. A monolith upside-down, a text mirrored, the thread count backwards, the sunlight in reverse, your post-scriptum relief, whatever else can be flipped. The poems are forgotten before they stand a chance of describing the forgetting.

I’ve forgotten all of these:

A Vicious National Triumph

All Kinds of Untowards Things

At Night and At Night

Behind the Fir

Borek Wielki

Brighton Water

Bruiser

Can It Just Be Nice to See Me

Cancel the Car Ride

Copse and Mirror

Dividual

Don’t Let Us Drink

Doctor’s New Date

Eric Dolphy

Excess, April 1-12

Four or Five Placid Angles

First First

Gosposia

Hairpin National

Honey Machine

Hot Cup of Soup

Lets You

Inconnu

Intent to Pacify

Kosmischer

Krakusy i Podwórka

Lava Down Cleveland Avenue

Learn in the Cold House

Left Notation

Lucky SG

Mallards Creek 4c

Movietone

Murmur Faith

My War

Naja

Near the Tape

North Canton

Oaths Hid in Rochester

Of Us the Worst Circulation

Osborne Road

Party Of Helicopters

Peninsula

Plotki

Redoubt

Riposte

Sędziszów Małopolski

Sleep on the Road

So Steamed Reaffirmation

Story 1-49

Sunlessness

The Mint Hunt

The New Gold Circle

The Sky for a Few Minutes

The World’s Biggest Necklace

Three Men

Trouble Forever

Two Centers

Valuska

You Don’t Necessarily Honor that Code

Your Arm Has Been Asleep All Day

Vestmannaeyjar

What Does Hello Mean

What Year Is This, Anyway

When They Were on Television

Wherefore, Mercy

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