The first stanza of All Days Lost Days hit me hard. It is the first statement in your lineup, and it felt exactly what I might say: "inexplicably / so many things have died in me". You need an awareness of aging to be struck by this. And "each tear holds a tiny hologram". Perfect to visualize and conveys so much.
I also loved the image "bare flesh of the next generation" in "Elegy". I, aging me, hide my flesh.
In Merwin's Coming to Morning, I liked the line "in which the world is made from a single star". This is a profundity I think of often.
Thank you again, Maya, for this moody mélange of poems. To your impeccably picked favorite lines from these, I’d like to add a few selections I thought were wonderful as well:
Duffy – Here are the little gravestones/where memory/stands in the wild grass
Dunmore – for the bare flesh of the next generation
Webster – And I was equal to my longing:
Merwin – and our ears/are formed of the sea as we listen
Tranströmer – till morning puts his light in the locks/and the doors of darkness open
Olzmann – this braided business almost intact saying:
Outside of this fine collection, I hope everyone here has an angst-free weekend.
These are remarkable, all of them, and seem meant for someone like me who is wrestling with aging. The lines you mention, of course, especially the ending of Webster’s poem. And also the 3rd stanza of Duffy’s poem: “Here are the little gravestones/ where memory/ stands in the wild grass,/ watching the future/ arrive in a line of big black cars.” That takes my breath away. Beautiful lines in every poem. I especially like the Transtromer with its note of hope in the end. I don’t know how you do it every week, Maya.
Litany almost made me cry because I have suffered so this summer with side effects. Thankfully I am recovering in this lovely season, but I admit to covering my flesh. Outside of the Garden reiterates what my husband and I talk about often; yes he says regret but I say memories. I may get some years back yet!
The first stanza of All Days Lost Days hit me hard. It is the first statement in your lineup, and it felt exactly what I might say: "inexplicably / so many things have died in me". You need an awareness of aging to be struck by this. And "each tear holds a tiny hologram". Perfect to visualize and conveys so much.
I also loved the image "bare flesh of the next generation" in "Elegy". I, aging me, hide my flesh.
In Merwin's Coming to Morning, I liked the line "in which the world is made from a single star". This is a profundity I think of often.
Thank you again, Maya, for this moody mélange of poems. To your impeccably picked favorite lines from these, I’d like to add a few selections I thought were wonderful as well:
Duffy – Here are the little gravestones/where memory/stands in the wild grass
Dunmore – for the bare flesh of the next generation
Webster – And I was equal to my longing:
Merwin – and our ears/are formed of the sea as we listen
Tranströmer – till morning puts his light in the locks/and the doors of darkness open
Olzmann – this braided business almost intact saying:
Outside of this fine collection, I hope everyone here has an angst-free weekend.
Yes: Here are the little gravestones/where memory/stands in the wild grass
This was a. beautiful way to start my Saturday. Thank you.
These are remarkable, all of them, and seem meant for someone like me who is wrestling with aging. The lines you mention, of course, especially the ending of Webster’s poem. And also the 3rd stanza of Duffy’s poem: “Here are the little gravestones/ where memory/ stands in the wild grass,/ watching the future/ arrive in a line of big black cars.” That takes my breath away. Beautiful lines in every poem. I especially like the Transtromer with its note of hope in the end. I don’t know how you do it every week, Maya.
“and our ears
are formed of the sea as we listen”
Wonderful group of poems that speak also to the melancholy of the season. Thank you Maya!
Funnily I was reading something else on existential dread when this landed in my inbox. How synchrously absurd and beautiful! Thank you 🌌🖤
I love these poems, thank you!
Oh my goodness, Maya, that last poem "Letter to a bridge made of Rope." What a fabulous metaphor for faith in God.
Love these. Transtromer is my favorite, because of life, and that ending.
Litany almost made me cry because I have suffered so this summer with side effects. Thankfully I am recovering in this lovely season, but I admit to covering my flesh. Outside of the Garden reiterates what my husband and I talk about often; yes he says regret but I say memories. I may get some years back yet!
regret beget deviate chop channel chew...❤️
Thanks for posting these poems. I will savor these