Poetry Less Than Daily

Strong Poems. Beautiful Poems. Tough Poems. Poems w/ the F-word. Poems less frequent than before but no less kick-ass.

Monday, February 21, 2005

Ted Berrigan

Words for Love
for Sandy

Winter crisp and the brittleness of snow
as like make me tired as not. I go my
myriad way blundering, bombastic, dragged
by a self that can never be still, pushed
by my surging blood, my reasoning mind.

I am in love with poetry. Every way I turn
this, my weakness, smites me. A glass
of chocolate milk, head of lettuce, dark-
ness of clouds at one o’clock obsess me.
I weep for all of these or laugh.

By day I sleep, an obscurantist, lost
in dreams of lists, compiled by my self
for reassurance. Jackson Pollock René
Rilke Benedict Arnold I watch
my psyche, smile, dream wet dreams, and sigh.

At night, awake, high on poems, or pills
or simple awe that loveliness exists, my lists
flow differently. Of words bright red
and black, and blue. Bosky. Oubliette. Dis-
severed. And O, alas

Time disturbs me. Always minute detail
fills me up. It is 12:10 in New York. In Houston
it is 2 p.m. It is time to steal books. It’s
time to go mad. It is the day of the apocalypse
the year of parrot fever! What am I saying?

Only this. My poems do contain
wilde beestes. I write for my Lady
of the Lake. My god is immense, and lonely
but uncowed. I trust my sanity, and I am proud. If
I sometimes grow weary, and seem still, nevertheless

my heart still loves, will break.

3 Comments:

At 11:53 AM, Blogger Joseph Massey said...

I'm commenting so much on your blogs, man, I'm feeling like Curtis Flava or whatever his name is. Gotta say: I love that Berrigan poem a whole lot.

 
At 2:56 PM, Blogger doejohn69 said...

i think i too am in love with poetry.

and this is one of my all time favorite poems.

poetry dailier, you are my new favorite thing to read.

 
At 12:31 AM, Blogger a said...

wow...I hadn't read that poem, f'in fantastic:

I am in love with poetry. Every way I turn
this, my weakness, smites me. A glass
of chocolate milk, head of lettuce, dark-
ness of clouds at one o’clock obsess me.
I weep for all of these or laugh.

 

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