#AmericanWriters #JewishWriters
Before you can learn the trees, yo… The language of the trees. That’s… Out of a book, which now you think… Is one of the transformations of a… The words themselves are a delight…
This morning we shall spend a few… Upon the study of symbolism, which… To the nature of money. I show yo… Icons and cryptograms are written… The nickel: one side shows a hunch…
Flaubert wanted to write a novel About nothing. It was to have no… And be sustained upon the style al… Like the Holy Ghost cruising abov… The abyss, or like the little anim…
For a saving grace, we didn’t see… Who rarely bothered coming home to… But simply stayed away out there In the clean war, the war in the a… Seldom the ghosts come back bearin…
Two lovers to a midnight meadow ca… High in the hills, to lie there ha… Like effigies and look up at the s… The never-setting ones set in the… To circle the Pole in idiot majes…
He didn’t want to do it with skill… He’d had enough of skill. If he n… Another villanelle, it would be to… And the same went for sonnets. If… Hard work learning to rime, it wou…
A door sunk in a hillside, with a… thick as the boy’s arm, and behi… the walls of ice, melting a blue,… an air of cedar branches, sawdust,… decaying seasons keeping from deca…
What gives it power makes it chang… At each extreme, and lean its risi… Down low, first one and then the o… In which exchange humility and pri… Reverse, forgive, arise, and die a…
I tell you that I see her still At the dark entrance of the hall. One gas lamp burning near her shou… Shone also from her other side Where hung the long inaccurate gla…
Some nights it’s bound to be your… When nightmare is the short end of… When sleep is a part of town where… To walk at night, when waking is t… You have of distancing your wretch…
This morning, between two branches… Beside the door, epeira once again Has spun and signed his tapestry a… I test his early-warning system an… It works, he scrambles forth in sa…
They’re taking down a tree at the… The power saw is snarling at some… Whining at others. Now and then i… And sawdust falls like snow or a d… Rotten, they tell us, at the fork,…
Innocence? In a sense. In no sense! Was that it? Was that it?
The house is so quiet now The vacuum cleaner sulks in the co… Its bag limp as a stopped lung, it… Grinning into the floor, maybe at… Slovenly life, my dog-dead youth.
The fishermen on Lake Michigan, s… For kicks, they spit two hunks of… At either end of a single length o… And toss that up among the scaveng… Who go for it so fast that often t…