Selecting a Reader
First, I would have her be beautiful,
and walking carefully up on my poetry
at the loneliest moment of an afternoon,
her hair still damp at the neck
from washing it. She should be wearing
a raincoat, an old one, dirty
from not having money enough for the cleaners.
She will take out her glasses, and there
in the bookstore, she will thumb
over my poems, then put the book back
up on its shelf. She will say to herself,
"For that kind of money, I can get
my raincoat cleaned." And she will.
Ted Kooser
Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
June Light
Your voice, with clear location of June days,
Called me--outside the window. You were there,
Light yet composed, as in the just soft stare
Of uncontested summer all things raise
Plainly their seeming into seamless air.
Then your love looked as simple and entire
As that picked pear you tossed me, and your face
As legible as pearskin's fleck and trace,
Which promise always wine, by mottled fire
More fatal fleshed than ever human grace.
And your gay gift--Oh when I saw it fall
Into my hands, through all that naive light,
It seemed as blessed with truth and new delight
As must have been the first great gift of all.
Richard Wilbur
Your voice, with clear location of June days,
Called me--outside the window. You were there,
Light yet composed, as in the just soft stare
Of uncontested summer all things raise
Plainly their seeming into seamless air.
Then your love looked as simple and entire
As that picked pear you tossed me, and your face
As legible as pearskin's fleck and trace,
Which promise always wine, by mottled fire
More fatal fleshed than ever human grace.
And your gay gift--Oh when I saw it fall
Into my hands, through all that naive light,
It seemed as blessed with truth and new delight
As must have been the first great gift of all.
Richard Wilbur
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
Monday, March 3, 2008
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