And, Psyche of Stallings…
from After a Greek Proverb / by A.E. Stallings
Twelve years now and we’re still eating off the ordinary:
We left our wedding china behind, afraid that it might crack.
We’re here for the time being, we answer to the query,
But nothing is more permanent than the temporary.
Yes, mountains remind me of Psyche, and Psyche of sorrow, and, sorrow of Beatrice.
from Psyche / by Beatrice Hawley
Now, the mountain is hushed.
The men steal away, eyes down. Night falls.
Psyche remembers her dolls, the pots she took
to play at house. This is where it leads.
Poetry and math, kindred spirits. And, mountains.
from Imaginary Number / by Vijay Seshadri
Yes, it’s still March. But, poems about writing poems always have a place in my heart.
from May Day / by Phillis Levin
Let it go as it will to the place
It will go without saying: a wall
Against which a body was pressed
For no good reason, other than this.
Fathers and sons, and journeys.
from The Odyssey / by Homer, trans. by Robert Fitzgerald
“I’ll go to try my father. Will he know me?
Can he imagine it, after twenty years?”
Then, not quite the opposite of gardens.
from The Divine Comedy, Purgatorio, Canto X / by Dante Alighieri
And in her mien this language had impressed,
“Ecce ancilla Dei,” as distinctly
As any figure stamps itself in wax.
And then Persephone brings me around to Ovid and to my favorite part: Daedalus, the minotaur, the maze, Theseus, and Ariadne.
from The Metamorphoses of Ovid / by Ovid trans. by Allen Mandelbaum
in fact the artifex
himself could scarcely trace the proper path
back to the gate — it was that intricate.
And, botanicals remind me of gardens, and then gardens remind me of the opposite of gardens like this one about Persephone. Glück was our teacher for one quarter at UCLA.
from A Myth of Devotion / by Louise Glück
you’re dead, nothing can hurt you
which seems to him
a more promising beginning, more true
From kingfishers and queens to botanicals, another favorite.
from Botanical Nomenclature / by Amy Clampitt
toggled into a seawall scree,
these tuffets of skyweed
neighbored by a climbing tideline
From lost people to lost loves.
from Nymphidia, The Court Of Fairy / by Michael Drayton
And tell how Oberon doth fare,
Who grew as mad as any hare,
When he had sought each place with care,
And found his queen was missing.
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