Thursday, July 15, 2010
"Don't stop!" I told my father, but still I craned my head, and later I walked the canal path behind the garden of Stern's house, remembering the conversation we once had. Butterflies were out in force. The spill of gardens toward rain-soaked gulleys. The white horizontals of brief bridges.
Do you know Gerald Stern's work? For if you don't, you must. The opening lines of "He Said," from This Time, here:
Thank God for summer, he said, and thank God the window
was to his right and there was a wavy motion
behind him and a moon in the upper right corner
only four days old and still not either blowsy
(find the poem, read on)