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BYE, POEMS, BYE
Bye, poems, bye. What’s the point. Some guy Will say the same with less. Bye, poems, bye. I must pick you up And read you again, after I cry? Bye, poems, bye. The instructions were long. I still...
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WHAT IF MY POETRY IS VANITY
What if my poetry is vanity? It must be. For who writes my poetry but me? And where are you located when I write? Does it matter? What does my poetry know of sunlight? What does my poetry know of you...
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ALL WE LOVED AND THOUGHT WE LOVED
All we loved, And thought we loved, we did not love, Because not one moment remained. Save it with your poetry, they said. We can’t have it, but at least we’ll have it explained. All we knew, And...
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SHE CHEATED ON ME
She cheated on me. In the movie— Not in the book—the loving pages Lovers of literature will always preserve. Editors and publishers’ wages Will forever cherish our love. Lovers of love will make our...
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YOU CANNOT SAY WHAT YOU DIDN’T LOVE
You cannot say what you didn’t love. When all is gone and only this poem is left, How will it help if this, too, is bereft? All is gone. So let this speak of love. It was love you wanted. You know...
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YOU SHOULDN’T BE HAPPY
You shouldn’t be happy, And yet somehow you’re happier than me. And now you hope I’ll make you happy. We’ll see. I know the stupid are sometimes happy, But I can’t make myself stupid. I’ve seen. I...
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WHAT IF I WANT TO THINK ABOUT IT THAT WAY
What if I want to think about it that way? That you said this, or that, just to see what I would say? That you had one talent, and it was this: You kept secrets from kiss to kiss; You never told me...
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INDIAN POETRY DECEMBER
December is here, and now Scarriet has looked at 77 Indian poets who write and publish in English, with one more month and seven more poets to go—84 in all, and what an illuminating exercise this has...
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PERFECTION IMPERFECTLY SEEN
Perfection imperfectly seen Might seem skinny, or fat, or in-between; Perfection, imperfectly heard, Might sound desperate, sweet, or absurd. And a poem is ruined by an incorrect word. Into the mirror...
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IN DECEMBER
In December it is evening every day. The horizon fog holds the sun from dream to dream, And the dream of evening is where we stay. Winter is for the wealthy, who go away. The final, bending solar beam...
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NO EVIDENCE OF A CRIME IS EVIDENCE OF A COVER UP OF A CRIME
“point me to the man—I’ll find a crime.” No evidence of a crime is evidence of a cover up of a crime. Since you never said you hated me, this proves you hated me the whole time. Since I suspected you...
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THAT ADVICE DOES NOT PERTAIN TO ME
That advice does not pertain to me. I can hate and love at the same time. I can hear in the wrong note the note that’s right. The best thing language can do is rhyme. Language can pun and law can be...
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EXAGGERATION
You must know I’m not usually excitable, But how long must I be calm and pleasantly glad? I have read about love. It was sad. The man paced outside the window. The woman Covered her arms in folds of...
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THIS POEM SHRINKS FROM ITS TITLE
This poem shrinks from its title. The clamor elicited by vulgarity Is not that different as when sad beauty Looks sadly away in the sight of your rival. A poem, written by the lonely and free Is not...
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DON’T YOU KNOW WHAT LOVE IS
Don’t you know what love is? It’s me talking to you right now. Thank God the poem mediates. Unsupervised human interaction hates Intervention by song or poem When not involving one they love. The ugly...
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NOW THAT HE’S EARNED HIS FAME
Now that he’s earned his fame, Or lucked into it—who is he?—life will never be the same. He loved you and was famous in your breast. You loved him, but you couldn’t love the rest. The others gradually...
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WHY POETRY MUST BE GOOD
Poetry must be good—otherwise we have a robot/zombie universe under obligation to like poetry. True admiration is as far away as possible from the obligation to like something. Some people are very...
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WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH THAT?
There’s so much interest to life When you gain a small advantage And feel that little joy of revenge, Even if it’s small, but it usually is small, Since small and petty is the object of your scorn:...
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GONE ALL THE TIME
Gone all at once, and gone all the time, Love feels impossible; Love won’t stay, so it feels sublime. Ineffable! Uncanny! Yet, there you are, Drinking coffee, or riding in the car. From the height of...
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THE WITCH
“must be the season of the witch” —Donovan A witch lives inside your soul, you say? A witch, you hate, but love anyway? The witch escaped the granite home And rides the lurid windy foam. The witch of...
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