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Richard Sachs Cycles

Poetry Friday

THIS WAS ONCE A LOVE POEM

This was once a love poem, before its haunches thickened, its breath grew short, before it found itself sitting, perplexed and a little embarrassed, on the fender of a parked car, while many people passed by without turning their heads.

It remembers itself dressing as if for a [...]

Poetry Friday

HEROIC SIMILE

When the swordsman fell in Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai in the gray rain, in Cinemascope and the Tokugawa dynasty, he fell straight as a pine, he fell as Ajax fell in Homer in chanted dactyls and the tree was so huge the woodsman returned for two days to that lucky place before he was [...]

Poetry Friday

RHAPSODY

No one says it anymore, my darling, not to the green leaves in March, not to the stars backing up each night, certainly not in the nest of rapture, who in the beginning was an owl, rustling just after silence, whose very presence drew a mob of birds–flickers, finches, chickadees, five cardinals to [...]

Poetry Friday

FOG

A vagueness comes over everything, as though proving color and contour alike dispensable: the lighthouse extinct, the islands’ spruce-tips drunk up like milk in the universal emulsion; houses reverting into the lost and forgotten; granite subsumed, a rumor in a mumble of ocean.                                Tactile definition, however, has not been totally banished: hanging [...]

Poetry Friday

WORDS AND THE DIMINUTION OF ALL THINGS

The brief secrets are still here,                              and the light has come back. The word remember touches my hand, But I shake it off and watch the turkey buzzards bank and wheel Against the occluded sky. All of the little names sink down,                              weighted with what is [...]

Poetry Friday

SEPTEMBER

I miss the tilt and racket of your face, the collapsing factories of your anger, the shoreline wearing your boas of foam— the steel mirror of your silence, your glass contingencies, in the night’s hold. I miss the morning’s coverlet of cloud, one gull flying east over the moving distances while closer in the [...]

Poetry Friday

SLEEP DOOR

a light knocking on the sleep door like the sound of a rope striking the side of a boat

heard underwater boats pulling up alongside each other

beneath the surface we rub up against each other will we capsize in

the surge and silence of waking from sleep

you are a lost canoe, [...]

Poetry Friday

BUTTERFLY CATCHER

In the Sixties Nabokov switched

from ink to eraser- topped pencil

on index cards    a box of cards for Ada    a box

of cards for dreams whose “curious features”

include “erotic tenderness and heart-rending enchantment”

in one draft he traded “stillness and heat”

for “silence, a burning”                          so picture:

Vladimir [...]

Poetry Friday

THE THREAD OF LIFE

1

The irresponsive silence of the land, The irresponsive sounding of the sea, Speak both one message of one sense to me: — Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band Of inner solitude; we bind not thee; But who from thy self—chain shall [...]

Poetry Friday

SEPTEMBER

I miss the tilt and racket of your face, the collapsing factories of your anger, the shoreline wearing your boas of foam— the steel mirror of your silence, your glass contingencies, in the night’s hold. I miss the morning’s coverlet of cloud, one gull flying east over the moving distances while closer in the [...]