the darkness around us is deep

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about this incredible William Stafford (1914-1993) poem I’ve always loved, and a conversation with a friend tonight brought it to mind again. Since this is the 10th year I’ve blogged for National Poetry Month, why not bring back some of my favorite poems I’ve posted in the last decade. Verse, after all, is meant to be savored again and again.

“A Ritual to Read to Each Other”

If you don’t know the kind of person I am
and I don’t know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the
world
and following the wrong god home we may miss
our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of
childhood
storming out to play through the broken dike.

And as elephants parade holding each
elephant’s tail,
but if one wanders the circus won’t find the
park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something
shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should
consider—
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the
dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to
sleep;
the signals we give — yes or no, or maybe —
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

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All that glitters isn’t music.

After a dear friend lent me Eduardo Corral’s 2012 debut collection, Slow Lightening, it took me months to return it–and for good reason

“To the Angelbeast”

for Arthur Russell

All that glitters isn’t music.

Once, hidden in tall grass,
I tossed fistfuls of dirt into the air:
doe after doe of leaping.

You said it was nothing
but a trick of the light. Gold
curves. Gold scarves.

Am I not your animal?

You’d wait in the orchard for hours
to watch a deer
break from the shadows.

You said it was like lifting a cello
out of its black case.

Tell me the things I see fill the table between us

Before I begin posting work from many poets who haven’t appeared on this blog before, let’s start with this intricate gem by the magnificent writer and activist, June Jordan (1936-2002), who I just love so much.

“Not Looking”

Not looking now and then I find you here
not knowing where you are.
Talk to me. Tell me things I see
fill the table between us or surround
the precipice nobody dares to forget.
Talking takes time takes everything
sooner than I can forget the precipice
and speak to your being there
where I can hear you move no nearer
than you were standing on my hands
covered my eyes dreaming about music.