Tuesday, March 24, 2009
by Hart Crane
We make our meek adjustments,
Contented with such random consolations
As the wind deposits
In slithered and too ample pockets.
For we can still love the world, who find
A famished kitten on the step, and know
Recesses for it from the fury of the street,
Or warm torn elbow coverts.
We will sidestep, and to the final smirk
Dally the doom of that inevitable thumb
That slowly chafes its puckered index toward us,
Facing the dull squint with what innocence
And what surprise!
And yet these fine collapses are not lies
More than the pirouettes of any pliant cane;
Our obsequies are, in a way, no enterprise.
We can evade you, and all else but the heart:
What blame to us if the heart live on.
The game enforces smirks; but we have seen
The moon in lonely alleys make
A grail of laughter of an empty ash can,
And through all sound of gaiety and quest
Have heard a kitten in the wilderness.
From The Complete Poems and Selected Letters and Prose of Hart Crane by Hart Crane, edited with an introduction and notes by Brom Weber. Used with the permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation. Copyright © 1933, 1958, 1966 by Liveright Publishing Corporation.
Hart Crane was an American poet with a very great gift for seeing, and for the way language changes what is real. Sadly, the despair that is often reflected in his work eventually overcame his appreciation for life. However, his poetic legacy deserves great respect. You can read more about Hart Crane & savor some of his work on Poets.org, here:
To take the Multi-Bloglingual Poetry Tour hosted by my friend Jacqui Binford-Bell, go here:
Have a wonderful time!
Posted by aimlessjoys 2 at 7:50 PM
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Today THEY have predicted a warming trend...
Glad to hear it, very glad to hear it...
I've uncovered a forgotten cache of Fabriano paper
22 X 30
& my arm is aching to stroke wide arcs of color.
But, for now, the paper chase continues
& the street is covered with warm white snow
falling from Bradford pear trees
much maligned harbingers of every season
lollipops grown into great clouds
little purple hyacinths in their budding pride
all the worlds follow a circle
Posted by aimlessjoys 2 at 7:48 AM