OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- Them bones
- The pure distance
- Owed
- Becoming grass
- Fuel
- The fears and pleasures
- Written by the vanquished
- Waiting for the detonation
- Green plague
- That great invention
- To greet the quietness
- Advancing into sleepless woods
- How else?
- What remains
- My life as a landlubber
- Perfect night
- Above the ears, below the waist
- In lieu of listening
- Black stone, yellow field
- City of changes
- The fresh chance
- Greek
- Too much
- A beach in hell
- When it breaks
- The burden of becoming human
- Want
- In slough time
- Sacrifice
- Restoring the words
- String theories
- Parcels of pure voice
- An undulant map
- Stone-blue winter
- Foreign matter
- Wake
- Exodus
- Always present
- A sown darkness
- Night
- Woods and water
- Fish tales
I’m reading Paul Zweig. This is the sixth poem in the first section of his Selected and Last Poems, followed by my response. See here for details.
Afraid That I Am Not a Poet
by Paul Zweig
Afraid that I am not a poet,
Yet willing to write
Even about that . . .
[Remainder of poem removed 8-25-05]
* * * *
Ukiyo-E
Outside of a poem, I have never seen
such a seemingly everyday thing as
an empty mirror.
I think of the fear I would feel if
I came face to face with
the absence of myself
& shiver with longing & delight.
Ah, that the mere thought of a thing –
an outline, an image – can open
a window in my chest
& make my tongue dance about
for words!
__________
Ukiyo-e, which refers to a genre of pre-modern Japanese woodblock prints depicting scenes from the demimonde, literally means “Picture(s) of the Floating World.”