A strange adventure befell me while I was playing my Sonata in B flat minor before some English friends. I had played the Allegro and the Scherzo more or less correctly. I was about to attack the March when suddenly I saw arising from the body of my piano those cursed creatures which had appeared to me one lugubrious night at the Chartreuse. I had to leave for one instant to pull myself together after which I continued without saying anything.
Frederic Chopin
The Test
Emily Dickinson
I can wade grief,
Whole pools of it,—
I’m used to that.
But the least push of joy
Breaks up my feet,
And I tip—drunken.
Let no pebble smile,
‘T was the new liquor,—
That was all!
Power is only pain,
Stranded, through discipline,
Till weights will hang. Give balm to giants,
And they’ll wilt, like men.
Give Himmaleh,—
They’ll carry him!
Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don’t open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.
by Jelaluddin Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks
Here at POEM, we love Ms. Clifton, hips and her poem about hips! Happy Birthday!
homage to my hips
BY Lucille Clifton
these hips are big hips
they need space to
move around in.
they don’t fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don’t like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top!
Lucille Clifton, “homage to my hips” from Good Woman. Copyright © 1987 by Lucille Clifton.
These two poems couldn’t be more different or beautiful. They bookend Wright’s Country Music, appearing near the beginning and ending of the volume. We love the clash of tones and tongues here at POEM. We’d like to congratulate, again, Charles Wright on his appointment to Poet Laureate.
The Voyage
Charles Wright
At first I was overly cautious, procedure being all-important. I gathered around me those I considered friends, discovering, with a certain shock, a mere handful—nothing else, however, was lacking, as I had for months assembled equipage, and such rudiments as maps of cities, tidal charts, coastal readings, cryptic dictionaries, and guides to unusual monuments. Only, in assuring readiness, I had planned too well…. As it was, this much should have been warning.
For days on end we waited, close by the north-east docks, admiring the stubborn tugs at work, studying the sea lanes. Such depths of perfect skies over the gaudy ships, outward-bound through the gay whistles of sea birds!… And at night the glide and swish of well-oiled engines, the long calls of the horns…. The weeks lengthened, our patience thickening. Then something altered, if imperceptibly at first: perhaps some quirk of the weather, perhaps of the sea. A little later and it was unmistakable: things tended to incline together, fogging distinctions, ships became less common, and schedules grew erratic; destinations became unsure in my head; the nights were longer, and with them there was the uncontrollable desire for sleep, up till then only vaguely recalled. Eventually, even, some of my friends, sharers of the voyage, vanished….
It is so difficult to come back, perspectives blunted, and to have only the waiting, now in the shuttered light, in the clutter of objects here in this drafty attic, until all is in readiness once more. Soon, perhaps, we shall go back down. But then, what stingy cargo to reload, what slackened baggage, O my stunted puppets!
Clear Night
Charles Wright
Clear night, thumb-top of a moon, a back-lit sky.
Moon-fingers lay down their same routine
On the side deck and the threshold, the white keys and the black keys.
Bird hush and bird song. A cassia flower falls.
I want to be bruised by God.
I want to be strung up in a strong light and singled out.
I want to be stretched, like music wrung from a dropped seed.
I want to be entered and picked clean.
And the wind says “What?” to me.
And the castor beans, with their little earrings of death, say “What?” to me.
And the stars start out on their cold slide through the dark.
And the gears notch and the engines wheel.
Thanks Washington Post for sharing this recently finished poem of Wright’s. Give her a read here.
Congratulations to Charles Wright on his appointment. We at POEM love Wright’s poetry and prose. In honor of Wright’s appointment we will be posting a few poems and essays on our site. If you don’t know this poet now’s a perfect time to get to know him. Check out the NYT article here.
Only the fine folks at OpenCulture could manage this find: Dr. Williams’ business card! Check it out here.
Three Poems for Horace Gregory
William Carlos Williams
THE UNITED FRONT
They have removed a building to make
parking space for the bank, showing
the sandy subsoil of this region. And there
a black cat scratches and sits down.
TO A CHINESE WOMAN
passing my house in the suburbs.
To a woman passing. To Asia
passing my house in the suburbs.
To China. To the moon. To the
stars. To the month of May. To
hell with this—After
her!—startling the flowers!
THE FIGHT
It was outside a place
across the track—
We’d been going all day.
But you know—none
of us had any dough we
‘re all on relief—
I told the Chief about
it this morning and
he wanted to pick him up.
But you know—he’s
my best friend. I don’t
mind a shiner but look
at this here. I showed
it to my wife when
I got home and she says,
Those are tooth marks!
Then it started to
swell on me, right down
to the ankle. Look,
these three little marks
here and those others
down there under them.
That looks like teeth
don’t you think so?
All I want to know is
is it dangerous? That’s
all I care about it.
overheard by:
William Carlos Williams
From The Collected Poems of William Carlos Williams Volume II 1939-1962
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