7 posts tagged “poem-a-day”
Sorrow is my own yard:
I sink as though I were
a diving bell--
I am 65-years-old
and I am failing
like the elderly voices
I remember
from childhood.
I am Flossie
of Paterson
land of brown dirt
blown in
and I will leave
this planet
soon.
[Flossie Williams was the wife of William Carlos Williams (1883-1963), who spent almost his entire life in his native New Jersey. Williams was a medical doctor, poet, novelist, essayist, and playwright. With Ezra Pound and H.D., Williams was a leading poet of the Imagist movement and often wrote of American subjects and themes. Though his career was initially overshadowed by other poets, Williams became an inspiration to the Beat generation, and particularly Allen Ginsberg, in the 1950s and 60s]
I am thinking
of a man
who came in the
night to visit
me, dreaming.
I knew him well
and sat down
with him to
lunch, I am sure
luques, man-
chego, some fine
bordeaux or
gigandas
accompanied us.
What did we
speak of, was it
poetry or gossip
about poets or
was it love, love
of all things.
No wonder
there, and there
speech is
a mouth, as
the famous poet
once wrote.
Yes, speech
is a mouth
I use to praise
you in dreams
and now, lovely
creature.
He is clad in various fleeting robes
that the tenor knows when he sees them.
His hands are pianist's hands.
His house shoes are Moroccan.
A doctor, a player, a disciple
of medicine, what did you think
when you first saw him?
I thought posh in a refined condition.
So in his history we'll find money
and try not to dislike the good doctor
for his crimson robes and Moroccan shoes--
after all, the look on his face is genuine.
