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Start by following Frederick Seidel.
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“July 4th fireworks exhale over the Hudson sadly.
It is beautiful that they have to disappear.
It's like the time you said I love you madly.
That was an hour ago. It's been a fervent year.”
―
It is beautiful that they have to disappear.
It's like the time you said I love you madly.
That was an hour ago. It's been a fervent year.”
―
“Too much is almost enough”
― Ooga-Booga: Poems
― Ooga-Booga: Poems
“Write beautifully what people don’t want to hear.”
―
―
“Poems 1959-2009_
I turn into the man they photograph.
I think I'll ask him for his autograph.
He's older than I am and more distinguished.
The beauty of the boy has been extinguished.
He smiles a lot and then not.
Hauteur is the new hot.
He tilts his nose up and looks imperious.
He wants to make sure he looks serious.
He smiles at the photographer but not
The camera. He thinks cold is the look that's hot.
You know the poems. It's an experience.
The way that Shylock is a Shakespearience.
A Jew found frozen on the mountain at the howling summit,
Immortally preserved singing to the dying planet from it.”
― Nice Weather
I turn into the man they photograph.
I think I'll ask him for his autograph.
He's older than I am and more distinguished.
The beauty of the boy has been extinguished.
He smiles a lot and then not.
Hauteur is the new hot.
He tilts his nose up and looks imperious.
He wants to make sure he looks serious.
He smiles at the photographer but not
The camera. He thinks cold is the look that's hot.
You know the poems. It's an experience.
The way that Shylock is a Shakespearience.
A Jew found frozen on the mountain at the howling summit,
Immortally preserved singing to the dying planet from it.”
― Nice Weather
“I am listening to the rustle of your long black dress
On the telephone last night as you pulled it up
A thousand miles away.
Someone could have walked in.
The husky hush of your voice.
Raise your evening gown for me forever.
— Frederick Seidel, from “Early Sunday Morning in the Cher,” These Days (Alfred A. Knopf, 1989)”
― These Days: New Poems
On the telephone last night as you pulled it up
A thousand miles away.
Someone could have walked in.
The husky hush of your voice.
Raise your evening gown for me forever.
— Frederick Seidel, from “Early Sunday Morning in the Cher,” These Days (Alfred A. Knopf, 1989)”
― These Days: New Poems
“The Earth keeps turning, night and day, spit-roasting all the tanned
Tired icebergs and polar bears, making white almost contraband.
The biosphere on a rotisserie emits a certain sound
That tells the stars that Earth was moaning pleasure while it drowned.
— "Poem by the Bridge at Ten-Shin”
― Poems 1959-2009
Tired icebergs and polar bears, making white almost contraband.
The biosphere on a rotisserie emits a certain sound
That tells the stars that Earth was moaning pleasure while it drowned.
— "Poem by the Bridge at Ten-Shin”
― Poems 1959-2009
“Ode to Spring"
I can only find words for.
And sometimes I can't.
Here are these flowers that stand for.
I stand here on the sidewalk.
I can't stand it, but yes of course I understand it.
Everything has to have meaning.
Things have to stand for something.
I can't take the time. Even skin-deep is too deep.
I say to the flower stand man:
Beautiful flowers at your flower stand, man.
I'll take a dozen of the lilies.
I'm standing as it were on my knees
Before a little man up on a raised
Runway altar where his flowers are arrayed
Along the outside of the shop.
I take my flames and pay inside.
I go off and have sexual intercourse.
The woman is the woman I love.
The room displays thirteen lilies.
I stand on the surface.”
―
I can only find words for.
And sometimes I can't.
Here are these flowers that stand for.
I stand here on the sidewalk.
I can't stand it, but yes of course I understand it.
Everything has to have meaning.
Things have to stand for something.
I can't take the time. Even skin-deep is too deep.
I say to the flower stand man:
Beautiful flowers at your flower stand, man.
I'll take a dozen of the lilies.
I'm standing as it were on my knees
Before a little man up on a raised
Runway altar where his flowers are arrayed
Along the outside of the shop.
I take my flames and pay inside.
I go off and have sexual intercourse.
The woman is the woman I love.
The room displays thirteen lilies.
I stand on the surface.”
―
“Joe Lelyveld told me just now that Gandhi and Mussolini
Actually met. What an extraordinary thought.”
― Nice Weather: Poems
Actually met. What an extraordinary thought.”
― Nice Weather: Poems
“COSMOPOLITANS AT THE PARADISE
Cosmopolitans at the Paradise.
Heavenly Kelly's cosmopolitans make the sun rise.
They make the sun rise in my blood.
Under the stars in my brow.
Tonight a perfect cosmopolitan sets sail for paradise.
Johnny's cosmopolitans start the countdown on the launch pad.
My Paradise is a diner. Nothing could be finer.
There was a lovely man in this town named Harry Diner.
Lighter than zero
Gravity, a rinse of lift, the cosmopolitan cocktail
They mix here at the Paradise is the best
In the United States - pink as a flamingo and life-announcing
As a leaping salmon. The space suit I will squeeze into arrives
In a martini glass.
Poured from a chilled silver shaker beaded with frost sweat.
Finally I go
Back to where the only place to go is far.
Ahab on the launch pad - I'm the roar
Wearing a wild blazer, black stripes and red,
And a yarmulke with a propeller on my missile head.
There she blows! Row harder, my hearties! -
My United Nations of liftoff!
I targeted the great white whale black hole.
On impact I burst into stars.
I am the caliph of paradise,
Hip-deep in a waterbed of wives.
I am the Ducati of desire,
144.1 horsepower at the rear wheel.
Nights and days, black stripes and red,
I orbit Sag Harbor and the big blue ball.
I pursue Moby-Dick to the end of the book.
I raise the pink flamingos to my lips and drink.”
― Poems 1959-2009
Cosmopolitans at the Paradise.
Heavenly Kelly's cosmopolitans make the sun rise.
They make the sun rise in my blood.
Under the stars in my brow.
Tonight a perfect cosmopolitan sets sail for paradise.
Johnny's cosmopolitans start the countdown on the launch pad.
My Paradise is a diner. Nothing could be finer.
There was a lovely man in this town named Harry Diner.
Lighter than zero
Gravity, a rinse of lift, the cosmopolitan cocktail
They mix here at the Paradise is the best
In the United States - pink as a flamingo and life-announcing
As a leaping salmon. The space suit I will squeeze into arrives
In a martini glass.
Poured from a chilled silver shaker beaded with frost sweat.
Finally I go
Back to where the only place to go is far.
Ahab on the launch pad - I'm the roar
Wearing a wild blazer, black stripes and red,
And a yarmulke with a propeller on my missile head.
There she blows! Row harder, my hearties! -
My United Nations of liftoff!
I targeted the great white whale black hole.
On impact I burst into stars.
I am the caliph of paradise,
Hip-deep in a waterbed of wives.
I am the Ducati of desire,
144.1 horsepower at the rear wheel.
Nights and days, black stripes and red,
I orbit Sag Harbor and the big blue ball.
I pursue Moby-Dick to the end of the book.
I raise the pink flamingos to my lips and drink.”
― Poems 1959-2009
“it falls and it stays and it goes it melts and it is here somewhere we all will get there”
―
―
“And always to be the same.
Like the air and the wind,
The wind and the air.
I hear a very quiet voice,
Emphatic like a flower,
Saying
It is I.
— Frederick Seidel, from “The Girl in the Mirror,” Poems 1959-2009 (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2009)”
― Poems 1959-2009
Like the air and the wind,
The wind and the air.
I hear a very quiet voice,
Emphatic like a flower,
Saying
It is I.
— Frederick Seidel, from “The Girl in the Mirror,” Poems 1959-2009 (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2009)”
― Poems 1959-2009
