I was walking through the library and I just got this Emily Dickinson poem in my head:
I cannot live with You --
It would be Life --
And Life is over there --
Behind the Shelf
The Sexton keeps the Key to --
Putting up
Our Life -- His Porcelain --
Like a Cup --
Discarded of the Housewife --
Quaint -- or Broke --
A newer Sevres pleases --
Old Ones crack --
And it goes on . . . I love this poem. It can seem trite, but just below the surface it's all strangeness--and yet, still, the commonplace feelings are part of it too. I've been talking about scansion a lot recently. Meter gives you the opportunity to suggest and then destroy order, a process that can, as in this case, break your heart.
1 comment:
I want to send you the Franz Wright poem, "My Work," that we talked about in class. It does the very thing you're discussing. You know it?
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