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About Lucie Brock- Broida’s “Real Life”
About Lucie Brock- Broida’s “Real Life” As I was scrolling through my Facebook feed on Monday, after having posted the previous blog earlier in the day, I discovered Lucie Brock- Broida’s (1956- 2018) poem, “Real Life” (poets.org>poem>real-life). I say discovered because I’d never encountered the poem before. “Real Life” was published in Brock- Broida’s first… Continue reading
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when last i sent you
when last i sent you to the square to purchasepaper and inkthe coins i gave you tarnishedin your pouch during the time you stopped to watch and i waited for the widow girl to dance a bavarianhand clap and knee slap and heel tapthen i waited for her to see youthen waited for her to… Continue reading
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when his hands carry
when his hands carrythe mouth of the flute away from his mouththe lip of the flute away from his lipheaven carries the cloud away from wittenbergand the rains that all day’ve divedinto the puddle stopand the puddle that all day’s overflowed into trickles away from itselfceases to floodand the tricklebeds carved into the mudby the… Continue reading
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the cloak in which i’d wrapped myself
the cloak in which i’d wrapped myself to warm the irmine lining with my cold i wore to answerhamlet’s knock at the door or claudius’ or gertrude’si answered marcellus’ Continue reading
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the boy who plays the flute
the boy who plays the flutebreathes gentle breath over the lip brimand across the open mouth of oh a sticka dead stickthat lays across his youthful handsa stick straight as rigor mortishis eyes whirl to their cornersacross the square comes the constablecomes to send him home himand the boy who strums the luteand the boy… Continue reading
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if this german field were in denmark
if this german field were in denmarkif marcellus livedthat faraway father leaned on a scytheat a distance where i can’t see that he has eyesor teeth that keep his face from collapse or if he’s aged down to three teeth or two or one or toothless his face collapsedthat distant face is a patch of… Continue reading
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on the corner in market square
on the corner in market squarewhere the door opens into the black eaglethe weaver’s son become the printer’s devil regard how the inks on his four fingers and on his thumb dance on the lute strings pluckedby the inks on his other hand’s greeter and thumb regard but regard too much you’ll miss how his… Continue reading
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after i’d returned
after i’d returnedfrom the blood rugged floors of elsinorewhen those harvestedby poison on the foil’s bladeby poison in the wine gobletwith the crop of maggots plantedi returned to the varnishedoakwood of a classroom in the leucorea resumed my consumption of the germ of luther’s philosophyit sprouts in me still it sprouts outinto the sermon i… Continue reading
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the baker woman sells white loaves
the baker woman sells white loavesand loaves of rye and loaves of barley and oatsthe butcher’s boy sells pork scraps for stewand chickens and plucked caponsthe pedlar sells gold and alcohol andalchemy in jars of elixir from his cartgive them all to think you’re deafthen hear mrs kretschner ask if you wanta cup of ale Continue reading
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after i’d returned from elsinore
after i’d returned from elsinoreresumed my education learnedhow to write a sermon how to preachon one two day ride away from wittenbergon a horse old and lame and plodding takenfrom the university’s stable to ministerto a peasant village near zwickau from a path grooved through grass verticalgrain headed in the air and grass choppedhorizontal to… Continue reading
About Me
I have a day.
Jake's Flea Market 