When the sun shines into our sitting room in the evening it lights up the glass Agapanthus that we bought on The Scillies years ago and sometimes, as now, the shadow has colour in it.
There are Marguerites in flower in a neighbours’ garden. This is the centre of one. Aren’t the colours lovely?
I subscribe to Knopf Poetry throughout April, a month of poetry. This one by Bob Hicok came in a day or two ago and is brilliant! We are all HUMAN! As my lovely SIL says – we both get the poems -” I love the subtle message of “We’re all PEOPLE, people!” ”
| We’ve come a long way toward getting nowhere |
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My obsession with Jews is an obsession
with one Jew. I look at her walking
and wonder what anyone could have
against Jews, at her sleeping
or hunting for her keys in the morning,
which she does often, lose her keys
when she has to go to work, suggesting
she doesn’t want to, and maybe this
is the problem with Jews:
they don’t want to leave. Or they eat
lots of chicken. Or worry the black
of their skirts doesn’t match the black
of their tops. Or like children more
than babies. Or fret over their mothers.
My Jewish problem is figuring out
why America in 2016 has a dab
of 1930s German Fascism to it—
people at political rallies
yelling crap about the Jews.
If I thought it would do any good,
I’d go to Topeka or wherever
and bring Eve with her troubled wardrobe
and her love of chicken and fascination
with children between two and thirteen,
when they can talk but before
they’ve begun planning the murder
of their parents, bring her face-to-face
with the screamers and ask, So these
are the freckles you hate? I would—we have
a lot of Amex points and I’ve never been
to Topeka or wherever, and I’m sure wherever
is very nice. And whenever we travel
to wherever, whatever people say
and however they say it, Eve’s freckles
will be the same, kind of cute
and kind of Jewish,
just like all her other parts
that do and do not have freckles,
in an inventory I alone
get to take, though trust me—
after repeated inspection, I can attest
that underneath it all, she, like many
of the people you know or are,
is ticklish, wrinkly, sexy, scarred—
since Jews really are relentless
when it comes to being human.
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babyjill7...Marilyn Griffin
April 17, 2017 at 7:37 am
beautiful shadows…
saymber
April 12, 2017 at 1:51 pm
Sally I thought of you this morning when I read this: http://www.dailygood.org/story/1577/this-is-a-poem-that-heals-fish-maria-popova/
A Poem that Heals Fish by Mary Popova
A poem
is when you have the sky in your mouth.
It is hot like fresh bread,
when you eat it,
a little is always left over.
A poem
is when you hear
the heartbeat of a stone,
when words beat their wings.
It is a song sung in a cage.
A poem
is words turned upside down
and suddenly!
the world is new.
arlene
April 12, 2017 at 9:10 am
Yay, I love this.
Hils Bryant
April 11, 2017 at 9:52 pm
How very beautiful. A lovely piece of writing. My Mum has a Scillies glass agapanthus too!
mybeautfulthings
April 12, 2017 at 3:57 am
Lovely to hear from you. I thought the poem rather special too. Aren’t the glass Agapanthus gorgeous?