A poem by Adrienne Cecile Rich (1929 – 2012)
the quality of being complete; unbroken condition; entirety
~ Webster
A wild patience has taken me this far
as if I had to bring to shore
a boat with a spasmodic outboard motor
old sweaters, nets, spray-mottled books
tossed in the prow
some kind of sun burning my shoulder-blades.
Splashing the oarlocks. Burning through.
Your fore-arms can get scalded, licked with pain
in a sun blotted like unspoken anger
behind a casual mist.
The length of daylight
this far north, in this
forty-ninth year of my life
is critical.
The light is critical: of me, of this
long-dreamed, involuntary landing
on the arm of an inland sea.
The glitter of the shoal
depleting into shadow
I recognize: the stand of pines
violet-black really, green in the old postcard
but really I have nothing but myself
to go by; nothing
stands in the realm of pure necessity
except what my hands can hold.
Nothing but myself?….My selves.
After so long, this answer.
As if I had always known
I steer the boat in, simply.
The motor dying on the pebbles
cicadas taking up the hum
dropped in the silence.
Anger and tenderness: my selves.
And now I can believe they breathe in me
as angels, not polarities.
Anger and tenderness: the spider’s genius
to spin and weave in the same action
from her own body, anywhere —
even from a broken web.
The cabin in the stand of pines
is still for sale. I know this. Know the print
of the last foot, the hand that slammed and locked the door,
then stopped to wreathe the rain-smashed clematis
back on the trellis
for no one’s sake except its own.
I know the chart nailed to the wallboards
the icy kettle squatting on the burner.
The hands that hammered in those nails
emptied that kettle one last time
are these two hands
and they have caught the baby leaping
from between trembling legs
and they have worked the vacuum aspirator
and stroked the sweated temples
and steered the boat there through this hot
misblotted sunlight, critical light
imperceptibly scalding
the skin these hands will also salve.
A few random poems:
- The Nymph’s Reply To The Shepherd by Sir Walter Raleigh
- France, the 18th year of These States. by Walt Whitman
- To The Nameless Soldier
- Persian Poem poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Василий Курочкин – Старая песня
- The Dirge of Wallace by Thomas Campbell
- To the author(s) of Manimekalai by T. Wignesan
- On Rabbi Kook’s Street by Yehuda Amichai
- Listening poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- On The Death Of A Favourite Cat, Drowned In A Tub Of Gold Fishes by Thomas Gray
- The Cat And The Moon by William Butler Yeats
- Second Poem by Peter Orlovsky
- Олег Бундур – Чайковский
- Юлиан Анисимов – Стихи мои, нежные гости
- The Carter by William Barnes
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Memorials of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 I. Departure From The Vale Of Grasmere, August 1803 by William Wordsworth
- Matthew by William Wordsworth
- Maternal Grief by William Wordsworth
- Mark The Concentrated Hazels That Enclose by William Wordsworth
- Lucy by William Wordsworth
- Lucy Gray [or Solitude] by William Wordsworth
- Louisa: After Accompanying Her On A Mountain Excursion by William Wordsworth
- Look Now On That Adventurer Who Hath Paid by William Wordsworth
- London, 1802 by William Wordsworth
- Lines Written On A Blank Leaf In A Copy Of The Author’s Poem “The Excursion,” by William Wordsworth
- Lines Written In Early Spring by William Wordsworth
- Lines Written As A School Exercise At Hawkshead, Anno Aetatis 14 by William Wordsworth
- Lines On The Expected Invasion, 1803 by William Wordsworth
- Lines Left Upon The Seat Of A Yew-Tree, by William Wordsworth
- Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey by William Wordsworth
- Laodamia by William Wordsworth
- Lament Of Mary Queen Of Scots by William Wordsworth
- It was an April morning: fresh and clear by William Wordsworth
- It Is No Spirit Who From Heaven Hath Flown by William Wordsworth
- It Is a Beauteous Evening by William Wordsworth
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
Adrienne Cecile Rich (1929 – 2012) was an American poet, essayist, and feminist.