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- Herausgeber: The Poetry Business
- Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
- Sprache: Englisch
Exciting, accomplished, and shimmering with ideas, Dear Life is the work of an exceptional talent. Together as never before, such figures as Larkin, Galileo and Milton, Turgenev and Willie Nelson help the poet explore, explain and address life as it is lived in the 21st Century.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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Published 2022 by
Smith|Doorstop Books
The Poetry Business
Campo House,
54 Campo Lane,
Sheffield S1 2EG
Copyright © Maya C Popa 2022
All Rights Reserved
ISBN 978-1-914914-08-9
eBook ISBN 978-1-914914-09-6
Typeset by The Poetry Business
Printed by People for Print, Sheffield
Smith|Doorstop Books are a member of Inpress:
www.inpressbooks.co.uk
Distributed by NBN International, 1 Deltic Avenue,
Rooksley, Milton Keynes MK13 8LD
The Poetry Business gratefully acknowledges the support of Arts Council England.
Contents
Wound is the Origin of Wonder
Margravine
Prayer
In the Museum of Childhood
On the Subject of Butterflies
Ghost Crabs
Reading
Genii Loci
Disquiet: A Taxonomy
Fife
Galileo Hosts Milton in Florence
The Peacocks
In Eden
The Owl
After
The Bends
Les Neiges D’Antan
How Far Can You See?
Dear Life
Wound is the Origin of Wonder
Fiction is the house of many windows,
James said, and I sat at each one
peering at a world
that trembled—or was that me instead,
quivering in the face
of all I made by looking,
unable to amend the plot or bend
the hand? Like all falls, we came at ours
by pleasure, all languages
seconded, learned by constraint—
no way to say look and away
and mean un-lone me.
Like gods, we made our kingdom hungry.
Our appetites’ agreement
we called love,
though it was nearer the mirror
than mercy. Sweet solstice,
soul cousin, Vita Nuova’s
Beatrice—do you hear our onceness
beating at the door? How the past
outlasts on either end,
though we’d like to burn out in oracular
blindness. What doom
to be beheld: you sing
when you should tremble. Will you leave me
my wondering; will it be as when
snow falls heavy on trees
and thou art felled?
Margravine
We talked with each other about each other
Though neither of us spoke – Emily Dickinson
In the cemetery, the only available light
