Fourteen Ways of Looking at the Sky after Wallace Stevens
I Somewhere in the Green Mountains, The only moving thing Was a meteor soaring through the sky. II I was of three minds Like a starless night In which there are only three stars. III The meteors glow blurred into the dark summer night. It was a small part of the festivities. IV A man and a woman Are one. A man and a woman and a meteor shower Are one.
V I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of your voice Or the beauty of your words, The meteors falling Or just after.
VI Mist filled the winding dirt road With your hideous car. The shadow of the meteor falling Nearly collided with us As it crossed. The scent traced in the meteors path. VII Oh poor poets of America, Why do you imagine golden planets? Do you not see how the meteors Land at the feet Of the women and men about you? VIII I know how to put on a French accent But am not lucid with its inescapable rhythms; And I know, too, That the meteors are involved In what I know. IX When the meteor fell out of sight, It marked the edge Of our small infinite circle. X At the sight of meteors Falling in an eerie gray light, Even the guardians of silence Would scream in ecstasy. XI He drove to Montreal In a borrowed Mercedes. Once, a fear pierced him, In that he mistook The shadow of one of his headlights For meteors. XII The river is stagnant. The meteors must be sleeping. XIII It was the crack of dawn all night. The meteors were showering And then they were going to shower. The two of us lay with our backs on the grass, staring up through the cedar limbs. XIV A man and a woman and a meteor shower Are one Again.
On the Existence of Bad Poetry
In a world where no one would ever think to deny the existence of bad music, bad milk, bad people, bad art, bad government, bad cigarettes bad beer, bad wine, bad seeds bad journalism, bad manners bad air, bad water, bad drugs bad sex, bad judgment, bad coffee, bad dancing, bad movies bad teachers, bad students, bad actors bad dreams, bad ideas, bad children bad salesmen, bad waiters, bad driving bad apples, bad paella, bad brie why wouldn't there be bad poetry?
MEN SEEM TO THINK
that being a good poet will help them to get laid. Women for the most part know this is not the case.
© All Copyright, Christine Telfer.