I HAVE been reading the poems of
Marie Howe, "What the Living Do"
A woman, oldest of many children
Abused by her father
And abandoned by the death of a beloved brother
Her poetry is mostly beautiful, melancholy thought
on these topics
And yet, she manages to bring spirit, love, and
hope where I would only look for despair
In the margins of her poem "Prayer" someone
has written in pencil:
1. I want to write about god and suffering and
how the trees endure/what we/don't want--
the long dead months before the apple blossoms
2. I've been thinking about how the Sorrow of men
is different from the sorrow of women,
tonight i don't know how
3. I have been thinking that maybe I will release
myself from all this pain, before i read to the end
4. And it went on like that through the night we made
up until we could pretend it was morning
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 6:44 AM UTC
I HAVE been reading the poems of
Marie Howe, "What the Living Do"
A woman, oldest of many children
Abused by her father
And abandoned by the death of a beloved brother
Her poetry is mostly beautiful, melancholy thought
on these topics
And yet, she manages to bring spirit, love, and
hope where I would only look for despair
In the margins of her poem "Prayer" someone
has written in pencil:
1. I want to write about god and suffering and
how the trees endure/what we/don't want--
the long dead months before the apple blossoms
2. I've been thinking about how the Sorrow of men
is different from the sorrow of women,
tonight i don't know how
3. I have been thinking that maybe I will release
myself from all this pain, before i read to the end
4. And it went on like that through the night we made
up until we could pretend it was morning
