From An Atlas Of The Difficult World

A poem by Adrienne Cecile Rich (1929 – 2012)

I know you are reading this poem

late, before leaving your office

of the one intense yellow lamp-spot and the darkening window

in the lassitude of a building faded to quiet

long after rush-hour. I know you are reading this poem

standing up in a bookstore far from the ocean

on a grey day of early spring, faint flakes driven

across the plains’ enormous spaces around you.

I know you are reading this poem

in a room where too much has happened for you to bear

where the bedclothes lie in stagnant coils on the bed

and the open valise speaks of flight

but you cannot leave yet. I know you are reading this poem

as the underground train loses momentum and before running

up the stairs

toward a new kind of love

your life has never allowed.

I know you are reading this poem by the light

of the television screen where soundless images jerk and slide

while you wait for the newscast from the intifada.

I know you are reading this poem in a waiting-room

of eyes met and unmeeting, of identity with strangers.

I know you are reading this poem by fluorescent light

in the boredom and fatigue of the young who are counted out,

count themselves out, at too early an age. I know

you are reading this poem through your failing sight, the thick

lens enlarging these letters beyond all meaning yet you read on

because even the alphabet is precious.

I know you are reading this poem as you pace beside the stove

warming milk, a crying child on your shoulder, a book in your

hand

because life is short and you too are thirsty.

I know you are reading this poem which is not in your language

guessing at some words while others keep you reading

and I want to know which words they are.

I know you are reading this poem listening for something, torn

between bitterness and hope

turning back once again to the task you cannot refuse.

I know you are reading this poem because there is nothing else

left to read

there where you have landed, stripped as you are.

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Poems in English 

• Groupie poem – Ysabelle Moriarty poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Glacier poem – Yuyutsu Sharma poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Ghouls parade poem – Brako Attafua poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Ghouls’ Parade poem – Brako Attafua poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Gazel poem – Yahya Kemal Beyatli poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Fantasy poem – Ysabelle Moriarty poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Drying Clothes poem – Yang Wan-Li poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Destiny poem – Zubair Ahmad Parray poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Bloodstains from Iraq poem – Yuyutsu Sharma poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Autumn poem – Ysabelle Moriarty poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Adieu poem – Yuvraj Johri poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• About Troy poem – Zbigniew Herbert poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• A Faery’s Lament poem – Ysabelle Moriarty poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• A Visit to Yu’s Cave poem – Yang Wan-Li poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• A Knocker poem – Zbigniew Herbert poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• A Ballad That We Do Not Perish poem – Zbigniew Herbert poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• One Night, The Fukien Robbers poem – Yang Wan-Li poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• O My Lord, Your Dwelling Places Are Lovely poem – Yehudah ha-Levi poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Not Speaking Of The Way poem – Yosano Akiko poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• My Sweet Lad You Have Not Been Lost poem – Yiannis Ritsos poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File

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Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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