Monthly Archives: February 2010

Robert Frost Under Erasure

Stopping here, little horse
The sweep of wind and evening promises

The snow, the village, the farmhouse
the woods, the frozen lake

dark harness bells, an easy wind
and miles to go

Getting Ready For Eternity

(First published by Dead Snakes.)

I see your height, I feel your weight
And watch you sew, to hew the new.
Laid in my tomb, without a comb,
This awful rouge would I gouge —
In hubris is debris.

Today’s Poem By Robert Bly

In Danger from the Outer World

This burning in the eyes, as we open doors,
This is only the body burdened down with leaves,
The opaque flesh, heavy as November grass,
Growing stubbornly, triumphant even at midnight.

And another day disappears into the cliff,
And the Eskimos come to greet it with sharp cries–
The black water swells up over the new hole.
The grave moves forward from its ambush,

Moving over the hills on black feet,
Living off the country,
Leaving dogs and sheep murdered where it slept;
Some shining thing, inside, that has served us well

Shakes its bamboo bars–
It may be gone before we wake . . .

Today’s Poem by Gary Snyder

Why I Take Good Care of My Macintosh

Because it broods under its hood like a perched falcon,

Because it jumps like a skittish horse and sometimes throws me,

Because it is poky when cold,

Because plastic is a sad, strong material that is charming to rodents,

Because it is flighty,

Because my mind flies into it through my fingers,

Because it leaps forward and backward, is an endless sniffer and searcher,

Because its keys click like hail on a boulder,

And it winks when it goes out,

And puts word-heaps in hoards for me, dozens of pockets of gold under boulders in streambeds, identical seedpods strong on a vine, or it stores bins of bolts;

And I lose them and find them,

Because whole worlds of writing can be boldly laid out and then highlighted and vanish in a flash at “delete,” so it teaches of impermanence and pain;

And because my computer and me are both brief in this world, both foolish, and we have earthly fates,

Because I have let it move in with me right inside the tent,

And it goes with me out every morning;

We fill up our baskets, get back home,

Feel rich, relax, I throw it a scrap and it hums.

–Gary Snyder

Today’s poem by Thoreau

You must not only aim aright,
But draw the bow with all your might.

-Henry David Thoreau

Last Speaker Of The Bo Language Dies

Boa Sr., the last speaker of the Bo language died Friday. She was eighty five and lived in the Andaman islands off the coast of India.