Told
by Philip Levine
The air lay soffly on the green fur
of the almond, it was April
and I said, I begin again
but my hands burned in the damp earth
the light ran between my fingers
a black light like no other
this was not home, the linnet
settling on the oleander
the green pod swelling
the leaf slowly untwisting
the slashed egg fallen from the nest
the tongue of grass tasting
I was being told by a pulse slowing
in the eyes
the dove mourning in shadow
a nerve waking in the groin
the distant hills
turning their white heads away
told by the clouds assembling
in the trees, told by the blooming
of a black mouth beneath the rose
the worm sobbing, the dust
settling on my eyelid, told
by salt, by water, told and told.
End of the poem
15 random poems
- Владимир Высоцкий – Ну что, Кузьма
- Шекспир – Что, если бы я право заслужил – Сонет 125
- Source of Life – Gives Hope in Adversity?
- On The Astrologers (From The Greek) by William Cowper
- intertwined by rachel wright
- Inscription to Chloris by Robert Burns
- The New World by Philip Levine
- At the Kitslano Beach by Mike Yuan
- all-days-seem-same.html
- Владимир Набоков – Путь
- Composed During A Storm by William Wordsworth
- On A Celebrated Event In Ancient History by William Wordsworth
- Endless Time by Rabindranath Tagore
- Владимир Британишский – Мы кончили нашу работу
- Наум Коржавин – Он собирался многое свершить
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).
Philip Levine ( 1928 – 2015) was an American poet best known for his poems about working-class Detroit. He taught for more than thirty years in the English department of California State University, Fresno and held teaching positions at other universities as well. He served on the Board of Chancellors of the Academy of American Poets from 2000 to 2006, and was appointed Poet Laureate of the United States for 2011–2012