Posts Tagged ‘ poem ’

Rilke – Dear Darkening Ground

Dear Darkening Ground


Dear darkening ground,
you’ve endured so patiently the walls we’ve built,
perhaps you’ll give the cities one more hour

and grant the churches and cloisters two.
And those that labor—let their work
grip them another five hours, or seven,

before you become forest again, and water, and widening wilderness
in that hour of inconceivable terror
when you take back your name
from all things.

Just give me a little more time!

I want to love the things
as no one has thought to love them,
until they’re worthy of you and real.


Rainier Maria Rilke

Book of Hours, I 61


Circe by Hilda Doolittle | Academy of American Poets


H. D., 18861961

It was easy enough
to bend them to my wish,
it was easy enough
to alter them with a touch,
but you
adrift on the great sea,
how shall I call you back?

Cedar and white ash,
rock-cedar and sand plants
and tamarisk
red cedar and white cedar
and black cedar from the inmost forest,
fragrance upon fragrance
and all of my sea-magic is for nought.

It was easy enough—
a thought called them
from the sharp edges of the earth;
they prayed for a touch,
they cried for the sight of my face,
they entreated me
till in pity
I turned each to his own self.

Panther and panther,
then a black leopard
follows close—
black panther and red
and a great hound,
a god-like beast,
cut the sand in a clear ring
and shut me from the earth,
and cover the sea-sound
with their throats,
and the sea-roar with their own barks
and bellowing and snarls,
and the sea-stars
and the swirl of the sand,
and the rock-tamarisk
and the wind resonance—
but not your voice.

It is easy enough to call men
from the edges of the earth.
It is easy enough to summon them to my feet
with a thought—
it is beautiful to see the tall panther
and the sleek deer-hounds
circle in the dark.

It is easy enough
to make cedar and white ash fumes
into palaces
and to cover the sea-caves
with ivory and onyx.

But I would give up
rock-fringes of coral
and the inmost chamber
of my island palace
and my own gifts
and the whole region
of my power and magic
for your glance.

Circe, H. D. Academy of American Poets

Virginia Street by Jennifer Hayashida – Poems |

Virginia Street

February on another coast is April
here. Astrology is months: 
you are February, or are you 
June, and who is 
December? Who is books 
read in spring, wingspan 
between midnight 
and mourning
Another starry tree, coastal 
counterpoint where magnolia is 
a brighter season
peach and pear
are grafted onto the same tree
fear and fat stick
to the same sprained bone
For this adolescent reprise
recycle everything trivial
but this time bring
the eye into sight:
make sight superior
to what is seen
A decade is to look at June 
and see April
to look at April 
and see February
Relief of repetition
seasons mean again,
one flowering branch suspended
in the half-light of spring
We sat on steps 
beneath a tree
No: I walked by
The tree bloomed
and I looked up 

Copyright © 2018 by Jennifer Hayashida. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 22, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.

Source: Virginia Street by Jennifer Hayashida – Poems |

old pajamas: from the dirt hut: Santoka ya

Santoka ya

            night is
                   animal ears
     (for Stanford M. Forrester)


Source: old pajamas: from the dirt hut: Santoka ya

Vanilla beauty and the immortal Phoenix: exploring the poetry of Chu in China (article) – China – Poetry International


In my balcony, there’s a bird-dropping 
on the iron rails.
I will not clean it off
out of respect for flying creatures.
I will not clean it
I will even take it
for a flower
on rust.
—Yu Xiaozhong 余笑忠 (1965-)

Source: Vanilla beauty and the immortal Phoenix: exploring the poetry of Chu in China (article) – China – Poetry International

What’s On Our Minds: Theresa Hak Kyung Cha’s Dictee – LEMON HOUND 3.0


Day recedes to darkness
Day seen through the veil of night
Translucent grey film cast between daylight and dark
dissolving sky to lavender
to mauve to white until night overcomes.
Hardly a murmur
Between dark and night
Suspend return of those who part with rooms
While shadows ascent   then equally fade
Suspension of the secret in abandoned rooms
Passing of secret unknown to those who part
Day receding to dark
Remove light    Re move sounds to far. To farther.
Absence full. Absence glow. Bowls. Left as they are.
Fruit as they are. Water in glass as beads rise to the rim.
Radiant in its immobility of silence.
As night re   veils the day.


– Theresa Hak Kyung Cha (1951-1982)


Today I’ve been thinking of Theresa Hak Kyung Cha’s “Aller/Retour” which appears in her experimental novel Dictee, originally published in 1982. My copy sits to my right, dog-eared and underlined. This poem appears in a series where we will explore other authors interactions with the text. 

Theresa Hak Kyung Cha (1951-1982) was a poet, filmmaker, and artist. Theresa Hak Kyung Cha’s Dictee (1982) was put back into print by University of California Press in 2009.

This poem has been posted with permission from University of California Press.

Source: What’s On Our Minds: Theresa Hak Kyung Cha’s Dictee – LEMON HOUND 3.0

A Longhouse Birdhouse: KADDISH 

R E A D      T H E      P O E M

Source: A Longhouse Birdhouse: KADDISH ~