Saturday, October 21, 2017

Strangely Consoling

Dark poetry’s been to me,
The Cranes and the Dickinsons,
The blood-jetting Plaths,

The wry tergiversations,
Solemn tunk-a-tunks,
Mock mockeries of Stevens,

“Gret big liar” Sterling Browns,
Frosts caught in encroaching trees,
Bishops losing everything,
Melvilles who can’t sleep,

And those just a few,
And just of Americans.
All I hoped to learn? To be
Strangely consoling in turn.

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