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Where have these hands been,
By what delayed,
That so long stayed
Apart from the thin
Strings which they now grace
With their lonely skill?
Music and their cool will
At last interlace.
Now with great ease, and slow,
The thumb, the finger, the strong
Delicate hand plucks the long
String it was born to know.
And, under the palm, the string
Sings as it wished to sing.
~~~
Louise Bogan (1897 – 1970) was appointed the fourth Poet Laureate to the Library of Congress in 1945, and was the first woman to hold this title. Throughout her life she wrote poetry, fiction, and criticism, and became the regular poetry reviewer for The New Yorker. Dictionary of Literary Biography contributor Brett C. Millier described her as “one of the finest lyric poets America has produced.” He said, “the fact that she was a woman and that she defended formal, lyric poetry in an age of expansive experimentation made evaluation of her work, until quite recently, somewhat condescending.”

From Collected Poems of Louise Bogan 1923 – 1953 (Noonday Press, 1956). Included in Vox Populi for noncommercial educational purposes only.
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When I read a poem that sings, i become lighter.
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Well-said, Barbara. I know exactly what you mean.
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What a pleasure to be introduced to this marvelous poet.
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A musical poem that’s interesting in its sonnet rhyme scheme with the shorter lines. Going to share with my friend Jan, the fiddle player. She too makes her violin strings sing as they wish to sing….
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Thanks, Jim.
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An elegant and powerful poem.
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It really is beautiful.
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