ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 14

GOOD QUESTION
why do I write all the time ...

SOME MILLERSBURG
of your own ...

8/24/05
the dusk comes out and takes the woods...

untitled
lifting a light to help itself ...

BLACK AND GREEN
on state road four you came down...

SEEN FROM ABOVE
and without the distraction of time...

GROCERIES
when you think you see...

I TELL YOU HOW TO GET THERE
and what it's like...

A LONG LINE
at night in the sky...

SEPTEMBER, 2005
huddled masses...

THIS TIME OF YEAR
walking early out ...

LIVING HERE
on this tail end of white river water...

11/14/05
my nails hurt from the cold ...

untitled
on the track made ...

untitled
I kept a ...

untitled
my cold clothes ...

OUR HOUSES
the town the fields the woods...

A POEM AS A PILE OF STICKS
poetry is where I have not been before...

ALSO
the flames sweep upward...

ON NOT SLEEPING
here on the less end ...

THE MIDDLE OF MY LIFE
when I reached the middle of my life ...

untitled
the guillotine cause and effect ...

1/18/06
the future of one day...

SLEPT
rain fed a fire in the roots ...

POEM
widow...

WET ALL DAY
this cold rain is our earth's ...

ALL DOGS TO GET NEW LEASH
wet when it's wet...

NIGHT/SEA
staring into the night as into a sea...

2/6/06
wood coming today ...

BEND
when I take in hand...

WORK
my books bend under the weight ...

untitled
of the world ...

PEACE
late afternoon...

THEFT OF A LINE FROM OPPEN
return ...

I HAVE GAINED NOTHING I HAVE LOST NOTHING
new moon sliver ...

2/27/06
our disobedient worries ...

MANY DAYS RAIN
driving carefully on ...

THOUGHTS
my second thoughts ...

THEFT OF LINES FROM KHLEBNIKOV
the gouges in the sides ...

TO MY BAD HABITS
when I see you I think of myself ...

ON MY READING LIST THERE IS
a history of funerals so well-written...

WRITING AT NIGHT
its chief object ...

5/24/06
chilly mornings with bright sun ...

WORSHIPPING (WITHOUT GOD)
hands clasped weight on the knees ...

STATE FOREST
the trail through deep woods in a long slope ...

MY BED OF ROSES
on my bed of roses ...

4 A.M. LIGHT SO BRIGHT IT WOKE ME
old moon ...

MAN OF DREAMS
dusk ...

untitled
into the war...

NOT OURS
rain ...

untitled
passion over ...

IMAGINATION IMAGINATION IMAGINATION
earth floats higher...

6/21/06
the sun at noon ...

NOSTALGIA
the rain is an empty city ...

SELF-PORTRAIT (WITHOUT MY FACE)
ambivalent about irony...

LOOKING
blue backs and forked tails ...

7/28/06
first bat and first star...

DRIVING ON THE NARROW ROAD
off to one side this open hill ...

UNLIFTABLE
under all the alasses shadowing me ...

VISIT TO THE CEMETERY
over by the road the careless ...

HOW FAR
built on the water waking ...

FIVE THOUGHTS BEFORE SLEEP
the sand the shore moved...

AWAY LIKE WE WANTED
above the trees ...

WE KNOW THIS
The dead are sleepless, we know this, they need no rest. With ...

INNER WORLD
the river rich in me ...

WITHOUT KINDNESS
on its stalk the corn flames towards the mouth above ...

A:

I think it's that I always had the feeling that what is really true,
really valuable is hidden in small, insignificant places.  You know,
like when you're walking someplace and you notice at the back of a
building, right where things necessary to whatever goes on in there
are carried in, a place that's been let go--tall weeds, grass gone
to seed, the steps a bit crumbled, trash or discarded objects left to
sit and make little decomposing sculptures--that sort of thing. I
don't know if I'm saying this right. Anyway, these places or things,
no one notices them, but they've got these bright little flowers
showing, or an odd combination of shapes and lines, there's something
vital there and also something that's failed and is passing, forgotten.
Kind of a bit of history that no one cares about, but it contains the
only wisdom we need, the only comfort available. Again, I think I'm
not saying this well, and maybe I've wandered far from the subject.
Anyway, it's this impulse I have to value what's small, thrown away,
forgotten, but composing its own secret, highly important space.  So
maybe I have this need to leave things short or broken and to discard
them, meaning leave them where they can be found but not where they
call attention to themselves, and my vanity makes me think that by
this means I've given them an importance, a significant insignificance
that some more public and complete construction would lack.