Imaginary Gardens
"The Garden"
I
You are clear
O rose, cut in rock,
hard as the descent of hail.
I could scrape the colour
from the petals
like spilt dye from a rock.
If I could break you
I could break a tree.
If I could stir
I could break a tree—
I could break you.
II
O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.
Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air—
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.
Cut the heat—
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.
By H.D.
Some rock, jazz, punk, indie
punctuated with poems, mostly
20th century, always
nice, discovering
if the great artists are,
in Marrianne Moore's words,
"literalists of the imagination."
(Cover photo: "Let's Wait and See" from Norman Bluhm and Frank O'Hara's collection "Poem-Paintings)
11:00am, 10-24-2022
11:00am, 10-3-2022