An apologetic delay with some unapologetic lines from a poet with whom I ate dinner once in Florida (as did our whole graduate class) thanks to our William Logan. I sat beside Derek Walcott. He was a friendly giant. This one’s from The Best American Poetry, 1997, edited by James Tate.
from Italian Eclogues / by Derek Walcott
metaphors
breed and flit in the cave of the mind, and one hears
in the waves’ incantation and the August conifers,
and reads the ornate cyrillics
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