Magazine article WLA ; War, Literature and the Arts

The Poem Stands on Its Head by the Window

Magazine article WLA ; War, Literature and the Arts

The Poem Stands on Its Head by the Window

Article excerpt

Even so, the poem cannot reverse the order of things.

The fruit bowl on the table spills plums,

blue and speckled, still ready to split their skins.

Brains still blow up at markets and blood rains the beach.

Coins knock and jangle, clocks collide, and a buckeye,

polished as childhood, slides from the poem's pocket

into the rivered shag. Guns, bombs, missiles still fly in its head.

The poem's feet flex a silent beat. Can the poem move a line

of soldiers aimed to kill? Change a word to stop the genocide?

The poem sighs, heaves, utters the moans and sputters

of earth, the lost vowels groaning-hearts jettisoning

from daily life. The poem has seen the blue marble fully lit from space.

So, what gives, the poem asks, rearranging roots, hands and feet and blood and

breath to accommodate a world of violence and wonder? The poem

floats on a blue scribbled ground and ochre sky, reaches like Jacob's ladder. …

Search by... Author
Show... All Results Primary Sources Peer-reviewed

Oops!

An unknown error has occurred. Please click the button below to reload the page. If the problem persists, please try again in a little while.