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Lark

Anne Carson, 21 May 2020

... Freezing daffodils nod againstApril snow. Long queue at thefood store. Brilliant deaths cutthe day. Hal was only 64. Hehad sung kaddish for someoneelse not long ago and no oneexpected – even the lark doesnot see the Open, someonesaid in another time.  ...

Short Talk on My Headache

Anne Carson, 21 June 2018

... Although gamma is the third letter of the ancient Greek alphabet, the fourth book of Aristotle’s Metaphysics is called Metaphysics Gamma because there are two extant Metaphysics Alphas and (may we suppose) no one could bear to call one of them lesser, so references to the fourth book are given as Metaphysics Gamma (IV) or sometimes Metaphysics IV (3), this being the book where Aristotle outlines three versions of his famous ‘principle of non-contradiction ...

Tom and TV

Anne Carson, 1 December 2016

... Out of the folds of the heavenly things I was dreaming of Tom Stoppard in a car saying do you want to come look at my etchings and I thought here at last is someone who will know how this drear phrase came to refer to close acts of humankind so I said what does that really mean do you think and he said sex and I awoke in tears because I suddenly remembered when my Dad died I had to pawn his TV, which I did for not enough money then after midnight I went out walking the streets of his small town and there it was Dad’s TV on a shelf in the shop in the dark with others ...

Two Poems

Anne Carson, 4 December 2003

... Beckett’s Theory of Tragedy Hegel on sacrifice. The animal dies. The man becomes alert. What do we learn we learn to notice everything now. We learn to say he is a hero let him do it. O is shown moving to the window. What a rustling what an evening. Oh little actor (living moving mourning lamenting and howling incessantly) time to fly back to where they keep your skin ...

Sonnet Isolate

Anne Carson, 4 November 2010

... I force myself to contradict myself in order to avoid conforming to my own taste.’ Marcel Duchamp A sonnet is a rectangle upon the page. Your eye enjoys it in a ratio of eight to five. Let’s say you’re an urgent man in an urgent language construing the millions of shadows that keep you alive. If only it were water or innocent or a hawk from a handsaw, if only you were Adonis or Marcel Duchamp settling in to your half hour of sex or chess, not this raw block cut out of the fog of meaning, still damp ...

Guillermo’s Sigh Symphony

Anne Carson, 7 February 2002

... Do you hear sighing.      Do you wake amid a sigh.            Radio sighs AM,              FM.                Shortwave sighs crackle in from the Atlantic.            Hot sighs steam in the dawn.     People kissing stop to sigh then kiss again. Doctors sigh into wounds and the bloodstream is changed for ever ...

Kant’s Question about Monica Vitti

Anne Carson: A Poem, 31 October 2002

... It was hidden in her and it gave Kant pleasure. L’Eclisse begins with a wind blowing Monica Vitti’s hair. She is inside a room. Kant’s was a partly negative pleasure. Where is that wind from? Kant took pleasure in what he called Thing In Itself. She is prowling the room with her eyes down, observed deeply by a man in an armchair. Thing In Itself was unattainable, insurmountable ...

Two Sonnets

Anne Carson, 7 October 2010

... Sonnet of Addressing Gertrude Stein Here is a pronoun to address Gertrude Stein with : dog you’ve never had before has died. Drop’t Sonnet When a language drops a distinction (as e.g. English has modified the 2nd person singular so that I can no longer express the wish, Tell me spirit! whither wander’st thou? or split a king in two saying, If thou beest not immortal, look about you!) there is a lowering of arms, a thinning of air inside the whole system, a sadness in the sparrows, a slipping away of prefixes and wisdom, ’las for alas, ’less for unless, ’pale for impale, ’unsist for unresisting, and whether is one syllable and needle rhymes with kneel (yet I confess not till I met you did I begin to feel this change as a loss ...
...  metals talking among themselves, metals that first meet above the earth …’Adam Zagajewski, Another BeautyI thought about it walking home.One of those relentlessly clear midwest midnights frozen all the way up to a halfmoon loose in her steam in blueblack vastness. Silent silent. A gnostic night.No blackbirds.Share a birthday! –were wenegatives lying side by side in the developer’s tray while certain weird red minutesdrained away? Or loitering together in that lobby in heaven where June 21st soulsall gather to waitand Adam and I(avoiding Sartre)ducked to a corner to talk about scansion ...
... i) CASSANDRA: My lips rush the night, skull empty- ing, wide, cold, yolks gone, was it for this? is like the moment when is like the when is like the CHORUS: you amaze me CASSANDRA: Apollo! CHORUS: lust? CASSANDRA: shame! CHORUS: come on CASSANDRA: we wrestled! CHORUS: conceived? CASSANDRA: spat him out! CHORUS: but still he? CASSANDRA: ah my gift! CHORUS: bad? CASSANDRA: (never) believed! CHORUS: oh but we CASSANDRA: [screams] was it for this the skull glows wide I know that smell O clear nightingale gods wrapt her in wing a life with no sting but for me waits SCHISM of the 2 edged was it for this the skull blows wide I know that smell burst- open bride CHORUS: what is it like? CASSANDRA: what is what like? CASSANDRA: Me a killed slave easy fistful of death you O humans O human things a shadow is enough to a sponge can wipe you off you I pity [exit Cassandra] CHORUS: as brightness blows the rising and hang in it, their glory, stare out death for death for death (ii) CASSANDRA: ‘I know that smell’ (Aeschylus, Agamemnon 1333) Gorges down black drops white water after shadows plunge out of wild all around to deep trees a white cock crows ...

Burners Go Raw

Anne Carson, 26 February 2009

... Burners medieval dark mud on a road a dark morning, falling back through memories a faint pain, dark uphill way the usual alone and gravel picking my step out where nothing, out hoping, hope sinking, slope rising, that dark colour, almost rain, a thing impending, how to get home the perfect lamplight from which out where nothing though I can almost taste it oh yes today, if today is your example today I could get back the cold slope just a foil the drear rain almost Brontë but one day no, one day that dark mud is the whole rigging the entire arrangement every north south sideways song pleading past the end of the soundtrack and then we’ll see and then we’ll spend, then we’ll be the burners Go snow woke me, light soaking out of snow straying up from lawns hedges caves coves pawing in through blinds through eyelids like a strain on the night, the night could not bear this strain I am here in my white shell I said Here I am I went out to help the night, no that’s not how it was go again, go nightingale, sometimes starting up from sleep lost from you is all one piece with the night itself that thing desolate stretched roving in it as if childhood came back deep in tides or a dream of a face turned away ...

Ode to the Sublime by Monica Vitti

Anne Carson, 25 April 2002

... I want everything. Everything is a naked thought that strikes. A foghorn sounding through fog makes the fog seem to be everything. Quail eggs eaten from the hand in fog make everything aphrodisiac. My husband shrugs when I say so, my husband shrugs at everything. The lakes where his factory has poisoned everything are as beautiful as Brueghel. I keep my shop, in order that I may sell everything there, empty but I leave the light on ...

Alive That Time

Anne Carson, 8 February 2007

... In fact Odysseus would have been here long before now but it seemed to his mind more profitable to go to many lands acquiring stuff. For Odysseus knows profit over and above mortal men nor could anyone else alive rival him at this. (Odyssey, 19.282-6) It’s a panel on something improbable (Godard and Homer?) in a fluorescent salon of some city’s Palais des Congrès ...

Walks for Girls and Boys

Anne Carson, 6 July 2006

... for RC 1. Huron River We walked by the river its arms all gold in winter sun like tin. Workshops of afternoon hummed along elsewhere. We noted ice at the shore and ice on plants and ice from the light fixtures under the railway bridge exploding – Squid, you said. Time toppled past us. There were no trains, no sunset. Geese lapped at an edge, eyes inward on their sunk city ...

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