Hans Howe

Margaret Said by N

“N, do you know what you had forgotten about?
I’ll tell you what you had forgotten about —
What a totally marvelous, warm, funny little secret
You and Ally and Rick are together.
I always felt that the three of you were like pieces
of clean laundry hanging on a clothesline. Just flapping,
Waving, tangling occasionally, smelling wonderful in the
Sunshine and wind.
You know how people say, ‘oh, what a nice couple they are’
About a man and woman who are married or going together?
I’ve-never pictured you in that context.

I always picture you as a mama piece of laundry on the line
With a littlier piece of laundry on each side of you.
And the three of you were always having the time of your lives.

You had forgotten (me, too) how the three of you fit together,
In your funny little secret on the clothesline.

And, N, when you get to liking another man, picture him
As a piece of laundry hanging up there in the sun and the wind
Along with your kids.
Don’t forget what I’m telling you, now. Envision that man as
A piece of laundry.
That will be the clue to it all.

Michael could never be a piece of laundry. He isn’t a
Piece of laundry.

good riddance.”

Filed under: Poets n Poems | Leave a comment »

Carol of Words Walt Whitman

1

EARTH, round, rolling, compactsuns, moons, animalsall these are words to be said;
Watery, vegetable, sauroid advancesbeings, premonitions, lispings of the future,
Behold! these are vast words to be said.

Were you thinking that those were the wordsthose upright lines? those curves, angles, dots?
No, those are not the wordsthe substantial words are in the ground and sea,
They are in the airthey are in you.

Were you thinking that those were the wordsthose delicious sounds out of your friends mouths?
No, the real words are more delicious than they.

Human bodies are words, myriads of words;
In the best poems re-appears the body, mans or womans, well-shaped, natural, gay,
Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of shame.

2

Air, soil, water, firethese are words;
I myself am a word with themmy qualities interpenetrate with theirsmy name is nothing to them;
Though it were told in the three thousand languages, what would air, soil, water, fire, know of my name?

A healthy presence, a friendly or commanding gesture, are words, sayings, meanings;
The charms that go with the mere looks of some men and women, are sayings and meanings also.

3

The workmanship of souls is by the inaudible words of the earth;
The great masters know the earths words, and use them more than the audible words.

Amelioration is one of the earths words;
The earth neither lags nor hastens;
It has all attributes, growths, effects, latent in itself from the jump;
It is not half beautiful onlydefects and excrescences show just as much as perfections show.

The earth does not withhold, it is generous enough;
The truths of the earth continually wait, they are not so conceald either;
They are calm, subtle, untransmissible by print;
They are imbued through all things, conveying themselves willingly,
Conveying a sentiment and invitation of the earthI utter and utter,
I speak not, yet if you hear me not, of what avail am I to you?
To bearto betterlacking these, of what avail am I?

4

Accouche! Accouchez!
Will you rot your own fruit in yourself there?
Will you squat and stifle there?

The earth does not argue,
Is not pathetic, has no arrangements,
Does not scream, haste, persuade, threaten, promise,
Makes no discriminations, has no conceivable failures,
Closes nothing, refuses nothing, shuts none out,
Of all the powers, objects, states, it notifies, shuts none out. Continue reading →

Filed under: Poets n Poems | Leave a comment »

THE THIRTEENTH MONTH: A SONNET TRIPTYCH
Emilio DeGrazia

I.
Weeds, groping for cracks in concrete,
One by one go deaf, dumb and blind.
Birds swallow refrains they can’t repeat,
And in city air dawn loses her mind.
Baseball calls its own time out this year.
Wars don’t thaw on frozen fields of dreams,
And kids, unsafe at school, walk home in fear.
Earth’s curveball spin, wound up by storms, seems
Undone, a knuckleball, berserk and blank.
And in these troubled times when bottom lines
Can’t be rounded off, and when no bloated bank
Can calculate returns for wholesale crimes,
We pause to doubt spring will come round again.
For the thirteenth month we have no name.

II.
For minds longing to believe what they know
And for eyes full of feelers for the unseen,
The earth performs its small routines offscreeen
Without betraying the secrets of her show.
How does the moon know when the time is right
To sway the tides closer to the sun
So waters can warm the soil in silent night
And tendrils can begin their quiet run
Toward the dandelion, the old sun’s rune
Rewritten on the schoolgirl’s open face
Amazed at blossoms opening their white grace
To the lunatic leer of the naked moon.
For what spring brings round there is no name
Whenever the thirteen month returns again.

III.
There is no respinning this old news,
Though nature’s gospel peters out, unleaving
Us to revelation of what we stand to lose
By cheering the return of the chariot Lord, wheeling
His high-horsed revenge from sky on wild-maned steeds
That obey the commands of a trumpet blast
Tuned to scorch the earth of all its deeds,
Once and for all, present, future, and past.
It makes a wide-screened movie in a small mind,
This cold-hate rescue full of fiery sounds,
This promise––threat that leaves good folk behind––
Recurrent as the sun on its lazy rounds
And as the thirteenth month without a name,
Old rite of spring that will come round again.

Filed under: Poets n Poems | Leave a comment »