|
Rosmarie Waldrop
If a pattern of life is behind a word's usage, the way tree bark beds columns of ink, then the word must contain some penumbra, some pulp, some that is never born. the shape of smoke Life is, after all, a collusion of thick and fast, spacetime foam and Berenice's hair, the book of curving suddens and masses of matter suspended. Nonplussed. No exact exchange. muscles endeavor Sharper concepts would not pack lunch. Sharper eyes would not see farther than irregularities of wave and too wet. Born as an afterthought I doubt propositions without body heat or shadow. vague terms We can predict high-pitched winds, but not their local practice. Opposing thumb and upright imposture. What people will and. Distress blowing cold, inches of slow disguise. replaced by waves Polymorph appearances and singular gods. Five is a hand, ten a whole perversity. Pretending to recognize the relatives as if to make amends. If our universe. sets us
Rosmarie Waldrop's most recent books of poems are Another Language: Selected Poems (Talisman House) and A Key into the Language of America from New Directions, which will also publish Reluctant Gravities in 1999. |