A northern monologue
Because I love a good Ashbery poem:Some TreesThese are amazing: eachJoining a neighbor, as though speechWere a still performance.Arranging by chanceTo meet as far this morningFrom the world as agreeingWith it, you and IAre suddenly what the trees tryTo tell us we are:That their merely being thereMeans something; that soonWe may touch, love, explain.And glad not to have inventedSuch comeliness, we are surrounded:A silence already filled with noises,A canvas on which emergesA chorus of smiles, a winter morning.Placed in a puzzling light, and moving,Our days put on such reticenceThese accents seem their own defense.
Sheesh, the double post looked better than the deletion!Thanks for the poem, Tracy. I don't know why I don't own any Ashbery.
Damn, I spent ten minutes typing that out from the book. I didn't realize it was already on line. A guy like me should know better and do a search first.Thanks, B.G
Ya, you should know better! :)Seriously though, thanks for doing the typing and sending me that poem, G. You've mentioned Ashbery before a number of times and I thought about ordering some of his books around the same time you pointed me to the work of Geoffrey Hill. Now the three Ashbery titles you recommended are on their way.
Which three Ashbury books, by the by?
A, the Ashbery titles I ordered areWhere Shall I Wander, his new one. Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror The Tennis Court Oath
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