This often happened. His pen
rendered the paper still
beneath it's thought thing:
a bird, in flight. Each sounding
stone pulled across the page made
the repetition of the extended wing,
and it's curve, a reality. He
was careful. He was in earnest.
And as often, one
would blink into existence
over his shoulder - no bird, but
a known face, speaking words
in a manner of speaking, chiding,
"What, this again? My God
friend, it's time to grow up."
3 comments:
This one reminded me a bit of Larry Levis' "Linnets".
Am I way off-base?
I don't know Brent. I'll have to check it out. Do you have a copy? Thanks for posting.
I do have a copy, but it's a long poem (maybe 5-6 pages), and it would be hard to post. Among other things, "Linnets" melds imagery of birds with metaphors for the creative process, bits of narrative, and some lyric sections.
I know it's in: The Selected Levis. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2000. ISBN: 0-8229-4141-4 $22.50
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