Stars and Other Signs
In those poems, written over a interval of 50 years, Marie Borroff addresses such matters because the celerity of time, outdated age, paintings, literary friends, and her cherished New England panorama. The poems relish sound and shape, whilst they unsettle and disturb.
Needle trembles as you begin to select. At Seventy, The instruments are as issues stand. are as issues move, are as you recognize. much less apt, much less good in hand to sink the nail, to steer the lengthy blade’s thrust and haul. long past lopsided, long gone lame. Are as issues stand, are as issues fall. dicy, residual, but to not set aside out of all calling, no, no longer in your lifestyles. previous woman, previous busybody, take one other breath, set board to border, carry the nail regular, for my candy sake. an afternoon For Penelope Laurans.
Possibles as one, alike existent, until eventually via time’s chemistry, surprising the current Locks into crystal, genuine and chilly. Belated Tribute For Ronald Crane We thronged to listen to him educate the sage of sages, learn the Poetics, wrote our weekly pages; Questions of sedulous contriving He set like footholds for our upward striving. He had no tolerance for imprecision, and simple certitudes earned his derision, but what our diligence may well supply His beneficiant brain was once readiest to find. Devoid alike of.
And eyes And these kind of gesturing fingers forsake. In Memoriam A. M. S. The summer season birthdays, Alan—who may perhaps say the place time was once heading? What used to be another 12 months? putting the chairs, clearing the plates away, typical voices, greetings and reliable cheer, The expectant hush, then, beginning on cue, The birthday track, the cake borne in aflame, The presents, and, watching from the sidelines, you, Your gleeful face placing our smiles to disgrace, crimson hair slicked again, in jacket and bow tie! And in that shape,.
And eyes And a majority of these gesturing palms forsake. In Memoriam A. M. S. The summer time birthdays, Alan—who may say the place time was once heading? What used to be yet another yr? putting the chairs, clearing the plates away, ordinary voices, greetings and stable cheer, The expectant hush, then, beginning on cue, The birthday track, the cake borne in aflame, The presents, and, observing from the sidelines, you, Your gleeful face placing our smiles to disgrace, crimson hair slicked again, in jacket and bow tie! And in that shape,.
Their delight Slips from its unreluctant carry And drops of liquid silver slide From the spent swimmer, unusual and chilly. A February Scene As I appeared out this wintry day each twig and each spray and each drooping tuft of pine used to be clad approximately with crystalline, and each pod and berry and seed and each jointed stalk of weed used to be closed in glass, and each one Shot again a sparkle to the sunlight. the floor was once sealed in reliable glare— No creature stumbled on a purchase order there; No flirt of tail, no whir of.