The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review

Poem for Sunday

The Seasons
By Susan Stewart

Ice-jammed hard-clasped branches in the blocks a whole river of them
          yet at the same time, the time sensed
beneath the time walked, the time breathing in and out, the water almost
          eddying, still pushing there beneath
the milk-white surface, deep down and over the bed of rocks; you could call
          them frozen, though they never live
another state than less and less until they're gone, the water going on and on
          until it all accrues again. The seasons
always seemed to be a form of freedom, something good for making meaning,
          the kind of notion a founding father could
pull out now and then whenever
          the now and then would flag. Time
healing time, you know the saw.
          Lightning strikes and struck.
The shepherd fell down dead.
And then it all wound up again: a redbreast made a ruckus, the quick
    eternal sprung.

You wanted summer or you wanted death.
So death came again, and that was autumn.


From Poet's Choice in The Washington Post Book World today, on Stewart and "shadow georgics": "These poems respond to and reconfigure the traditional georgic, a didactic poem about rural once a practical guide and a celebration of the hard labor demanded by the Earth." A fascinating column today, highly recommended, and a nice break from the Valentine theme of the rest of the issue.

ashinae came to the inescapable conclusion that we need russell_daily. Because, I mean...I don't really have to explain this, do I? Now come and join, because you know you want to, and post those pictures you know you have secretly saved on your hard drive.

To my surprise, the gerbils seem very happy on side-by-side wheels in their side-by-side cages; Boromir has spent the last several days looking very unhappy in a birdcage without a proper water bottle, let alone anything to play with besides toilet paper rolls which he has gnawed through in minutes. Now he and Aragorn are out of their nests, sniffing each other through the bars of the cages, and they have run around on top of one another's cages and seem happy to see each other. I am hoping they will get along well enough to play in their box together for short periods and stuff.

Am late on notes but very, very grateful for all the support. I feared that there might be a rash of gerbil-related unFriendings which would have depressed me terribly. Thanks!

  • Greetings from the Canal

    It rained early in the morning on Friday and again in the afternoon -- the first thunderstorm of the season, which displeased the kittens so much…

  • Poem for Friday and Canal Thursday

    Letter Beginning with Two Lines by Czesław Miłosz By Matthew Olzmann You whom I could not save, Listen to me. Can we agree Kevlar backpacks…

  • Poem for Thursday and McCrillis Flowers

    A Violin at Dusk By Lizette Woodworth Reese Stumble to silence, all you uneasy things, That pack the day with bluster and with fret. For here…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded