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Half Lives Quotes
Half Lives: Petrarchan Poems
by
Richard Jackson8 ratings, 3.88 average rating, 3 reviews
Half Lives Quotes
Showing 1-3 of 3
“I want to make her think the constellations have all wandered
into new formations, that the lake’s moon is held a prisoner
each time she refuses to listen to these words, that the flowers
turn from her when she turns from me–a poetry not to be
squandered
as in the past, not lost among the cries of the stars, unheard,
but carrying home, as the sparrow, in order to restore
its nest, carries one twig at a time, some new metaphor
that startles her soul into knowing what I have endured,
and into knowing what a prisoner she’s been in her own heart,
and she will see this poem as some lost rose in the snow, fallen
inside her, or a relic some farmer unearths as he plows,
and then she’ll know how her refusals only seem to chart
new lands and stars in this poem that finally transcends
all fears of me, and some new, some sacred love allow.
— Richard Jackson, “The Poetics of Love,” Half Lives: Petrarchan Poems (Autumn House Press, 2004)”
― Half Lives: Petrarchan Poems
into new formations, that the lake’s moon is held a prisoner
each time she refuses to listen to these words, that the flowers
turn from her when she turns from me–a poetry not to be
squandered
as in the past, not lost among the cries of the stars, unheard,
but carrying home, as the sparrow, in order to restore
its nest, carries one twig at a time, some new metaphor
that startles her soul into knowing what I have endured,
and into knowing what a prisoner she’s been in her own heart,
and she will see this poem as some lost rose in the snow, fallen
inside her, or a relic some farmer unearths as he plows,
and then she’ll know how her refusals only seem to chart
new lands and stars in this poem that finally transcends
all fears of me, and some new, some sacred love allow.
— Richard Jackson, “The Poetics of Love,” Half Lives: Petrarchan Poems (Autumn House Press, 2004)”
― Half Lives: Petrarchan Poems
“I want to make her think the constellations have all wandered
into new formations, that the lake’s moon is held a prisoner
each time she refuses to listen to these words, that the flowers
turn from her when she turns from me–a poetry not to be squandered
as in the past, not lost among the cries of the stars, unheard,
but carrying home, as the sparrow, in order to restore
its nest, carries one twig at a time, some new metaphor
that startles her soul into knowing what I have endured,
and into knowing what a prisoner she’s been in her own heart,
and she will see this poem as some lost rose in the snow, fallen
inside her, or a relic some farmer unearths as he plows,
and then she’ll know how her refusals only seem to chart
new lands and stars in this poem that finally transcends
all fears of me, and some new, some sacred love allow.
Richard Jackson, “The Poetics of Love,” Half Lives:Petrarchan Poems (Autumn House Press, 2004)”
― Half Lives: Petrarchan Poems
into new formations, that the lake’s moon is held a prisoner
each time she refuses to listen to these words, that the flowers
turn from her when she turns from me–a poetry not to be squandered
as in the past, not lost among the cries of the stars, unheard,
but carrying home, as the sparrow, in order to restore
its nest, carries one twig at a time, some new metaphor
that startles her soul into knowing what I have endured,
and into knowing what a prisoner she’s been in her own heart,
and she will see this poem as some lost rose in the snow, fallen
inside her, or a relic some farmer unearths as he plows,
and then she’ll know how her refusals only seem to chart
new lands and stars in this poem that finally transcends
all fears of me, and some new, some sacred love allow.
Richard Jackson, “The Poetics of Love,” Half Lives:Petrarchan Poems (Autumn House Press, 2004)”
― Half Lives: Petrarchan Poems
“Let’s stop time, Love, to see what those clouds yearn
to be, to listen to that butterfly stir the air around us,
to hear, at dusk, the stars begin like crickets, tremulous,
or feel their light begin to ripple in the lowest ferns;
let’s see how skillfully the night covers this field of moons,
the way your own look has passed the sentries of my heart–
let’s add some message twig to this nest we’d set so far apart
we only spoke with words that waited all winter in their cocoons.
from “The Pause”
― Half Lives: Petrarchan Poems
to be, to listen to that butterfly stir the air around us,
to hear, at dusk, the stars begin like crickets, tremulous,
or feel their light begin to ripple in the lowest ferns;
let’s see how skillfully the night covers this field of moons,
the way your own look has passed the sentries of my heart–
let’s add some message twig to this nest we’d set so far apart
we only spoke with words that waited all winter in their cocoons.
from “The Pause”
― Half Lives: Petrarchan Poems
