The city had such pretty clotheslines.
Women aired their intimate apparel
in the emery haze:
membranes of lingerie—
pearl, ruby, copper slips—
their somehow intestinal quivering in the wind.
And Freihofer’s spread the chaste, apron scent
of baking, a sensual net
over a few yards of North Troy.
The city had Niagara
Mohawk bearing down with power and light
and members of the Local
shifting on the line.
They worked on fabrics made from wood and acid,
synthetics that won’t vent.
They pieced the tropics into housecoats
when big prints were the rage.
Dacron gardens twisted on the line
over lots of Queen Anne’s lace.
Sackdresses dyed the sun
as sun passed through, making a brash stained glass
against the leading of the tenements,
the warehouse holding medical supplies.
I waited for my bus by that window of trusses
in Caucasian beige, trying to forget
the pathological inside.
I was thinking of being alive.
I was waiting to open
the amber envelopes of mail at home.
Just as food service workers, counter women,
maybe my Aunt Fran, waited to undo
their perms from the delicate insect meshes
required by The Board of Health.
Aunt Alice wasn’t on this route.
She made brushes and plastics at Tek Hughes—
milk crates of orange
industrial lace
the cartons could drip through.
Once we boarded, the girls from Behr-Manning
put their veins up
and sawed their nails to dust
on files from the plant.
All day, they made abrasives. Garnet paper.
Yes, and rags covered with crushed gems called
garnet cloth.
It was dusk—when aunts and mothers formed
their larval curls
and wrapped their heads in thick brown webs.
It was yesterday—twenty years after
my father’s death,
I found something he had kept.
A packet of lightning-
cut sanding discs, still sealed.
I guess he meant to open the finish,
strip the paint stalled on some grain
and groom the primal gold.
The discs are the rough size
of those cookies the franchises call Homestyle
and label Best Before.
The old cellophane was tough.
But I ripped until I touched
their harsh done crust.
1995, Sensual Math (W. W. Norton & Company)
Copyright ©:
Alice Fulton
A few random poems:
- Their Frailty by Siegfried Sassoon
- never.html
- The Hanging Tree
- Владимир Высоцкий – Запись в книге почётных гостей ВНИИФТРИ
- Олег Бундур – В огороде
- Омар Хайям – Имей друзей поменьше, не расширяй их круг
- Work in Game Design Rather Than Other Design
- To Mrs Reynolds’ Cat poem – John Keats poems
- There is but there is not poem – Amy Haritha Suseel poems | Poems and Poetry
- The Fruit Garden Path poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Advice to the Ladies by William Somervile
- Mustard Flowers
- A Light Woman by Robert Browning
- Омар Хайям – И теперь живу под гнетом страха
- empty_room.html
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Robert Burns: Written By Somebody On The Window Of an Inn at Stirling, on seeing the Royal Palace in ruin.: Of an Inn at Stirling, on seeing the Royal Palace in ruin.
- Robert Burns: To Miss Ferrier: Enclosing the Elegy on Sir J. H. Blair.
- Robert Burns: Impromptu On Carron Iron Works:
- Robert Burns: Elegy On The Death Of Sir James Hunter Blair:
- Robert Burns: On The Death Of John M’Leod, Esq,: Brother to a young Lady, a particular friend of the Author’s.
- Robert Burns: Epigram To Miss Jean Scott:
- Robert Burns: The Bard At Inverary:
- Robert Burns: Elegy On “Stella”: The following poem is the work of some hapless son of the Muses who deserved a better fate. There is a great deal of “The voice of Cona” in his solitary, mournful notes; and had the sentiments been clothed in Shenstone’s language, they would have been no discredit even to that elegant poet.-R.B.
- Robert Burns: Burlesque Lament For The Absence Of William Creech, Publisher:
- Robert Burns: Epigram To Miss Ainslie In Church: Who was looking up the text during sermon.
- Robert Burns: Address To Wm. Tytler, Esq., Of Woodhouselee: With an Impression of the Author’s Portrait.
- Robert Burns: Hey, Ca’ Thro’ – Boat song:
- Robert Burns: Epitaph For Mr. William Michie: Schoolmaster of Cleish Parish, Fifeshire.
- Robert Burns: Epitaph For William Nicol, Of The High School, Edinburgh:
- Robert Burns: Lines Written Under The Picture Of The Celebrated Miss Burns:
- Robert Burns: A Bottle And Friend:
- Robert Burns: On Elphinstone’s Translation Of Martial’s Epigrams:
- Robert Burns: The Book-Worms:
- Robert Burns: Epigram Addressed To An Artist:
- Robert Burns: Epigram At Roslin Inn:
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
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.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
