Saturday, November 09, 2002
The hand that signed the paper felled a city;
Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath,
Doubled the globe of dead & halved a country;
These five kings did a king to death.
The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder,
The finger joints are cramped with chalk;
A goose's quill has put an end to murder
That put an end to talk.
The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever,
& famine grew, & locusts came;
Great is the hand the holds dominion over
Man by a scribbled name.
The five kings count the dead but do not soften
The crusted wound nor pat the brow;
A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven;
Hands have no tears to flow.
— Dylan Thomas
. . .
Thursday, November 07, 2002
I read his poems, I see his name, my hands sweat and my stomach starts to hurt and I do not know what to call it: fear, feeling, desire, inspiration, the pure panic of free fall.
. . .
thirty-two two-line poems by Joshua Beckman & Matthew Rohrer
Bring me the bloody head
of your last boyfriend.
. . .
Monday, November 04, 2002
Some tasty morsels of poetry can be found at F-train. Here's one I hadn't known before:
Dust of Snow
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
-- Robert Frost
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