Friday, September 21, 2007


From the Archives

(March 2005) Here’s another poem—a nice, sexy springtime poem, also by Mary Oliver, to celebrate the fact that the sun has come out.

by Mary Oliver

In April
the ponds
like black blossoms,
the moon
swims in every one;
there’s fire
everywhere: frogs shouting
their desire,
their satisfaction. What
we know: that time
chops at us all like an iron
hoe, that death
is a state of paralysis. What
we long for: joy
before death, nights
in the swale—everything else
can wait but not
this thrust
from the root
of the body. What
we know: we are more
than blood—we are more
than our hunger and yet
we belong
to the moon and when the ponds
open, when the burning
begins the most
thoughtful among us dreams
of hurrying down
into the black petals,
into the fire,
into the night where time lies shattered,
into the body of another.

Please note that those lines are set flush left because I don’t know the HTML code for random poetry indents. Mary indents them though.

READING: Anne Waldman and Lisa Birman’s Civil Disobediences: Poetics and the Politics of Action

LISTENING TO: "Barricades and Brick Walls” by Kasey Chambers (Barricades and brick walls can’t keep me from you. You can tie me down to a railroad track, you can let that freight trail roll....)

SINGING IN SHOWER: “Tainted Love”—and yes, as a matter of fact, I was dancing in there!

No comments: