Reflections, 1969/2011

When this photograph was taken 

Years ago, I did not know what 

The old woman was thinking— 

She was sitting before the low 

Wooden door of her house, 

Walking stick in hand, 

Eyes lowered, looking at the ground— 

I still don’t know what she was thinking. 

Save the Child

Between Two Bitter Moments

Between two bitter moments there’s no time even to breathe
between your face and your face
the tender form of a child takes shape and disappears.

—George Seferis, from Sketches for a Summer

Ray Of Glimmer At The Bottom

With the first black inkling 

Of writhing tentacles, remain

 

At your stations, blotting 

The thought out.

Back to the War

When she left at dawn, no one saw 

The black-clad bereaved old woman 

Carrying a knife, a loaf of bread,

And a small straw mat 

On which they found her babbling 

At dusk on a scarred, bare knoll

Overlooking the pockmarked, 

Snow-covered landscape, the still

Uncut bread by her side.

 

 

Narcissist Not Reflecting Deeply Enough

Writing poems, you should never see yourself 

As a "poet" writing poems— 

The poem is not a pond 

Full of frogs croaking, 

It is an ocean.