For decibels and angels, from Poetry, March 2017.
from Echo / by Raymond Antrobus
And no one knew what I was missing
until a doctor gave me a handful of Legos
and said to put a brick on the table
every time I heard a sound.
After the test I still held enough bricks
in my hand to build a house
and call it my sanctuary
For someone who must have done a perfect rain dance this month, from poetryfoundation.org.
from February Rain / by Florence Kiper Frank
We shall be forever in this room held tight
By the wind and the endless fall of the rain upon snow.
There are tulips upon the window-sill, there is the bright
Gnawing of fire on shadow
For the sonnet which engendered yesterday’s erasure, from The Norton Anthology of English Literature, Fourth Edition: 1.
from Sonnet 97 / by William Shakespeare
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or, if they sing, ’tis with so dull a cheer
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.
For erasures of Shakespeare’s sonnets, from Nets.
from 97 / by Jen Bervin
the very birds are mute
Or, if they sing
leaves look pale
For music, from The Half-Finished Heaven, translated by Robert Bly.
from Allegro / by Tomas Tranströmer
The music is a house of glass standing on a slope;
rocks are flying, rocks are rolling.
The rocks roll straight through the house
but every pane of glass is still whole.
For fairy tales, from Copper Nickel, Issue 24.
from Bear Skins / by Ryan Sharp
Three brothers have draped pelts
Over their shoulders, pretending
To be bears.
For the rain, which makes an appearance at the end of this poem, from Copper Nickel, Issue 24.
from The News / by John Loughlin
The dead knock at the door.
They arrive with big news.
The future as they imagined it,
The being dead part, hasn’t turned out
As they expected. Both the idealists
And the realists had it wrong.
You will too, they tell you.
For rains, reverence, and Visions of Eternity, from Bells in Winter, translated by the author and Lillian Vallee.
from Bells in Winter / by Czeslaw Milosz
What year is this? It’s easy to remember.
This is the year when eucalyptus forests froze in the hills
And everyone could provide himself with free wood for his fireplace
In preparation for the rains and storms from the sea.
For creation, chaos, and unreason, from Bells in Winter, translated by the author and Lillian Vallee.
from Calling to Order / by Czeslaw Milosz
Out of what thin sand
And mud and slime
Out of what dogged splinters
Did you fashion your castle against the test of the sea,
And now it is touched by a wave.
For Valentine’s Day, from Sonnets to Orpheus, translated by M.D. Herter Norton.
from First Part, 1 / by Rainer Maria Rilke
There rose a tree. O pure transcendency!
O Orpheus singing! O tall tree in the ear!
And all was silent. Yet even in the silence
new beginning, beckoning, change went on.
Creatures of stillness thronged out of the clear
released wood from lair and nesting-place;
and it turned out that not from cunning and not
from fear were they so hushed within themselves,
but from harkening.
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