Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
Beautiful natural blossoms,
Pure delicate body,
You stand without trembling.
Little mist of fallen starlight,
Perfect, beyond my reach
I have come a thousand miles for this. J&L’s ruins, a gravel plain on the Ohio’s west bank. There’s little left but an archeology of memory—smokestacks, ovens, foundry, smelter, slag. … Continue reading →
I stood on the street corner
In Minneapolis, lashed
This way and that.
Wind rose from some pit,
Hunting me.
In the Shreve High football stadium, I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville, And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood, And the ruptured night … Continue reading →
Garrison Keillor reads James Wright’s iconic poem. James Arlington Wright (December 13, 1927 – March 25, 1980) first emerged on the literary scene in 1956 with The Green Wall, a collection … Continue reading →
A few days ago, an old priest who was a colleague of my wife’s passed away, and Eva came home from work angry at the world. I was worried; Eva … Continue reading →