Andrew’s Reviews > The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart: A Poetry Anthology > Status Update
Andrew
is on page 159 of 560
What makes a poem's language work is the work in the language, and what makes it last is the love for this language work. All good poems are love poems—not because they tell of love and lovers, but because they reveal the poet's love of language. Not about love, the poem IS love.…Shakespeare imagines that the only truly lasting love resides in the miracle of the poet's "black ink."
— Mar 14, 2024 05:36AM
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Andrew’s Previous Updates
Andrew
is on page 209 of 560
from “Empty Warriors”
the men
escaped and taken, twice and three times absorbed in life and sharing,
absorbed in locating the mission and magic, the manner and
muscle, the answer and aims, walking the borders between
smiles and outrage.
[Feckin hell! My heart!]
— Apr 28, 2024 08:22AM
the men
escaped and taken, twice and three times absorbed in life and sharing,
absorbed in locating the mission and magic, the manner and
muscle, the answer and aims, walking the borders between
smiles and outrage.
[Feckin hell! My heart!]
Andrew
is on page 169 of 560
Dylan Thomas on words in poetry: “I knew that I had discovered the most important thing to me, that could be ever. There they were, seemingly lifeless, made only of black and white, but out of them, out of their own being, came love and terror and pity and pain and wonder and all the other vague abstractions that make our ephemeral lives dangerous, great, and bearable.”
— Mar 31, 2024 05:14AM
Andrew
is on page 151 of 560
from “The Irish Cliffs of Moher”
This is not a landscape, full of somnambulations
Of poetry
And the sea. This is my father or, maybe,
It is as he was,
A likeness, one of the race of fathers: earth
And sea and air.
— Feb 24, 2024 09:53AM
This is not a landscape, full of somnambulations
Of poetry
And the sea. This is my father or, maybe,
It is as he was,
A likeness, one of the race of fathers: earth
And sea and air.
Andrew
is on page 76 of 560
Roses, rents, all things conspire
To crown your death with wreaths of living fire.
And the public mourners come: the politic tear
Is cast in the Forum. But, in another year,
We will mourn you, whose fossil courage fills
The limestone histories; brave; ignorant; amazed;
Dead in the rice paddies, dead on the nameless hills.
— Jan 20, 2024 04:47AM
To crown your death with wreaths of living fire.
And the public mourners come: the politic tear
Is cast in the Forum. But, in another year,
We will mourn you, whose fossil courage fills
The limestone histories; brave; ignorant; amazed;
Dead in the rice paddies, dead on the nameless hills.
Andrew
is on page 76 of 560
from “Ode to the American Dead in Asia”:
Wet in the windy counties of the dawn
The lone crow skirls his draggled passage home:
And God (whose sparrows fall aslant his gaze.
Like grace or confetti) blinks and he is gone,
And you are gone. Your scarecrow valor grows
And rusts like early lilac while the rose
Blooms in Dakota and the stock exchange
Flowers.…
— Jan 20, 2024 04:47AM
Wet in the windy counties of the dawn
The lone crow skirls his draggled passage home:
And God (whose sparrows fall aslant his gaze.
Like grace or confetti) blinks and he is gone,
And you are gone. Your scarecrow valor grows
And rusts like early lilac while the rose
Blooms in Dakota and the stock exchange
Flowers.…
