summer 2012: summer sky, 2

westerly, ri

© anita aguilar

summer 2012: sea and sky

westerly, ri

© anita aguilar

read a good poem: here

at the opposite end of the day....

nov 24, 2011

©anita aguilar

There is nothing concrete to grasp in
looking into the morning sky

The evidence of red-eye
flights east a plane drawn line presents

is not a wheelbarrow solid enough
dependency as day and night

carry in coming and going
You don't see the poem

saying anything you can't see in it
White dashes of contrails'

seemingly unmoving streak towards sunrise
disquiet the pale otherwise

unpunctuated blue of dawn
breaks it off Here is that silence

--by Ed Roberson via poets.org

read a good poem: at a window

a favorite shot, from the northern spur of the high line

july 23, 2011

photo © anita aguilar

Give me hunger,

O you gods that sit and give

The world its orders.

Give me hunger, pain and want,

Shut me out with shame and failure

From your doors of gold and fame,

Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger!

But leave me a little love,

A voice to speak to me in the day end,

A hand to touch me in the dark room

Breaking the long loneliness.

In the dusk of day-shapes

Blurring the sunset,

One little wandering, western star

Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow.

Let me go to the window,

Watch there the day-shapes of dusk

And wait and know the coming

Of a little love.

--Carl Sandburg, via the poetry foundation

read a good poem: "gentle as silence"

day's end. lourdes.
Originally uploaded by ata08

"Need" from The Collected Poems of Babette Deutsch
by Babette Deutsch

What do we need for love—a midnight fire
Flinging itself by fistfuls up the chimney
In soft bright snatches? Do we need the snow,
Gentle as silence, covering the scars
Of weeks of hunger, years of shabby having?
Summer or winter? A heaven of stars? A room?
The smiling mouth, the sadness of desire
Are everywhere the same. If lovers go
Along an unknown road, they find no less
What is familiar. Let them stay at home,
And all will still be strange. This they know
Who with each heartbeat fight the fear of change.

this is the first poem by babette deutsch that i've read. found it, somewhat randomly, tonight. i was immediately drawn in.

did a little googling, and uncovered a few tidbits. i am officially fascinated:

she's a new yorker...attended barnard (like me!)...and she, along with her husband, avrahm yarmolinsky, translated pushkin's eugene onegin, one of the finest, most treasured gifts i've received, from a great love of mine...

i love the reviews of her work (not "genius," but poems show feeling and integrity...ah, genius is overrated!)...

and i rather love this remark of hers: "the poet ... like the lover ... is a person unable to reconcile what he knows with what he feels. his peculiarity is that he is under a certain compulsion to do so."