Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Dolan Morgan / The Inheritance



THE INHERITANCE

A NEW POEM

by Dolan Morgan
Stop counting other people’s money.
You’re pulling from the discards.
We had to liquidate your holdings to
ensure your future comfort. It’s
someone else’s child. It changed. We
are ideal candidates. We’re not
related by blood and you love me.
Astronauts love golf. You know, I’ve
been dreaming about a suitcase.
Everything’s perfect. We’re supposed
to keep it dim, I don’t know why. Ice
blue, white top. Don’t pretend like it’s
not scary. We’ve tried. I’m not allowed
to talk about it. It’s a convention. This
was all supposed to be ours. The smell.
Time to put something else in that mouth.
People do that. Do I have to go around
and write my name on all the things
I want? We were halfway to the hospital
before I noticed I was in my nightie.
The doctors say it’s not serious.

—lines from Mad Men, season two, episode ten
Dolan Morgan lives and writes in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

The Believer, March 2012
http://www.believermag.com/issues/201203/?read=poem_morgan



Monday, March 12, 2012

William Butler Yeats / The Stolen Child


yeats 2

The Stolen Child 

by William Butler Yeats


Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats:
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child! 
To the waters and the wild 
With a faery, hand in hand, 
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.


Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child! 
To the waters and the wild 
With a faery, hand in hand, 
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.


Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child! 
To the waters and the wild 
With a faery, hand in hand, 
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.


Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For he comes, the human child, 
To the waters and the wild 
With a faery, hand in hand, 
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand.



Friday, March 9, 2012

Emily Dickinson / There's a Certain Slant of Light


THERE’S A CERTAIN SLANT OF LIGHT
By Emily Dickinson

There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons -
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes -

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us -
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are -

None may teach it - Any -
’Tis the Seal Despair -
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air -

When it comes, the Landscape listens -
Shadows - hold their breath -
hen it goes, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death -



Friday, March 2, 2012

Emily Dickinson / This Quiet Dust



THIS QUIET DUST
By Emily Dickinson

This quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies
And Lads and Girls -
Was laughter and ability and Sighing
And Frocks and Curls -

This Passive Place a Summer’s nimble Mansion
Where Bloom and Bees
Fulfilled their Oriental Circuit
Then ceased, like these.