By Constance Merritt
Wrested from the coppery, willing claws of existential extremity, advantages and Inclemencies, Constance Merritt's moment choice of poems, is traditional in its kinds and radical in its achieving again to the floor of being and to the originality and immediacy of our first encounters with language. Forgoing the typical hedge of irony, those poems, with out apology, position their bets on elemental language, intentional grace, and culture in all its fruitfulness and freight.
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Extra resources for Blessings and Inclemencies: Poems
For embryos of future wars more terrible Than the last are borne over broad backs of sea And land with each new telling, and in this wise Are planted fatal seeds in fertile hearts. Let poets be dumb; let men forget. Let those who must remember swear by Styx Henceforth to quiet, that there one day be an end to it. Let us instead recall Love born of Death And Darkness; from Love, Light with its companion, Day. 38 III They’ll say it isn’t true: Love born of Death. They’ll tell you only darkness comes from Darkness.
S. eliot, “La Figlia Che Piange” Breathing My secrets cry aloud. I have no need for tongue. My heart keeps open house, My doors are widely swung. —theodore roethke, “Open House” I turn with seasons’ turn. I mourn the loss of light But love the quiet world, The trees, diamond’d, pearled. I pull my wool shawl close. Threadbare from use, it’s cold Comfort, though it will do To hide a heart from view Of wind or stars or cloud When my secrets cry aloud. The wind has many eyes. The wind has sharp, white teeth.
And she is there Slumbering, deep curled inside Demeter who Is not Demeter yet, the Separate One As yet unborn. He will learn to make Distinctions: child/stone, number, case, and gender; Deliver us to history from bliss. 44 III Turnin A SEQUENCE Sometimes these cogitations still amaze The troubled midnight, and the noon’s repose. —t. s. eliot, “La Figlia Che Piange” Breathing My secrets cry aloud. I have no need for tongue. My heart keeps open house, My doors are widely swung. —theodore roethke, “Open House” I turn with seasons’ turn.