Poet's Corner: six by Kay Ryan
Jul. 3rd, 2021 12:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stonepicnicking_okapiThe last of The Best of It by Kay Ryan.
Weakness and Doubt by Kay Ryan
Weakness and doubt
are symbionts
famous throughout
the fungal orders,
which admire pallors,
rusts, grey talcums,
the whole palette
of dusts and powders
of the rot kingdom
and do not share
our kind’s disgust
at dissolution,
following the
interplay of doubt
and weakness
as a robust sort of business;
the way we
love construction,
they love hollowing.
[Note: I thought the one above might make good fodder if I decide to do a fungal horror story for Hallowe'en]
Failure 2 by Kay Ryan
There could be nutrients
in failure—
deep amendments
to the shallow soil
of wishes.
Think of the
dark and bitter
flavors of
black ales
and peasant loaves.
Think of licorices.
Think about
the tales of how
Indians put fishes
under corn plants.
Next time hope
relinquishes a form,
think about that.
[The one above is one I plan to copy/print and keep]
Sharks' Teeth by Kay Ryan
Everything contains some
silence. Noise gets
its zest from the
small shark's-tooth
shaped fragments
of rest angled
in it. An hour
of city holds maybe
a minute of these
remnants of a time
when silence reigned,
compact and dangerous
as a shark. Sometimes
a bit of a tail
or fin can still
be sensed in parks.
The Best of It by Kay Ryan
However carved up
or pared down we get,
we keep on making
the best of it as though
it doesn't matter that
our acre's down to
a square foot. As
though our garden
could be one bean
and we'd rejoice if
it flourishes, as
though one bean
could nourish us.
Blue China Doorknob by Kay Ryan
I was haunted by the image of a blue china doorknob. I never used the doorknob, or knew what it meant, yet somehow it started the current of images. – Robert Lowell
Rooms may be
using us. We
may be the agents
of doorknobs’
purposes, obeying
imperatives china
dreams up or
pacing dimensions
determined by
cabinets. And if
we’re their instruments –
the valves of their
furious trumpets,
conscripted but
ignorant of it –
the strange, unaccountable
things we betray
were never our secrets
anyway.
Lighthouse Keeping by Kay Ryan
Seas pleat
winds keen
fogs deepen
ships lean no
doubt, and
the lighthouse
keeper keeps
a light for
those left out.
It is intimate
and remote both
for the keeper
and those afloat.
Weakness and Doubt by Kay Ryan
Weakness and doubt
are symbionts
famous throughout
the fungal orders,
which admire pallors,
rusts, grey talcums,
the whole palette
of dusts and powders
of the rot kingdom
and do not share
our kind’s disgust
at dissolution,
following the
interplay of doubt
and weakness
as a robust sort of business;
the way we
love construction,
they love hollowing.
[Note: I thought the one above might make good fodder if I decide to do a fungal horror story for Hallowe'en]
Failure 2 by Kay Ryan
There could be nutrients
in failure—
deep amendments
to the shallow soil
of wishes.
Think of the
dark and bitter
flavors of
black ales
and peasant loaves.
Think of licorices.
Think about
the tales of how
Indians put fishes
under corn plants.
Next time hope
relinquishes a form,
think about that.
[The one above is one I plan to copy/print and keep]
Sharks' Teeth by Kay Ryan
Everything contains some
silence. Noise gets
its zest from the
small shark's-tooth
shaped fragments
of rest angled
in it. An hour
of city holds maybe
a minute of these
remnants of a time
when silence reigned,
compact and dangerous
as a shark. Sometimes
a bit of a tail
or fin can still
be sensed in parks.
The Best of It by Kay Ryan
However carved up
or pared down we get,
we keep on making
the best of it as though
it doesn't matter that
our acre's down to
a square foot. As
though our garden
could be one bean
and we'd rejoice if
it flourishes, as
though one bean
could nourish us.
Blue China Doorknob by Kay Ryan
I was haunted by the image of a blue china doorknob. I never used the doorknob, or knew what it meant, yet somehow it started the current of images. – Robert Lowell
Rooms may be
using us. We
may be the agents
of doorknobs’
purposes, obeying
imperatives china
dreams up or
pacing dimensions
determined by
cabinets. And if
we’re their instruments –
the valves of their
furious trumpets,
conscripted but
ignorant of it –
the strange, unaccountable
things we betray
were never our secrets
anyway.
Lighthouse Keeping by Kay Ryan
Seas pleat
winds keen
fogs deepen
ships lean no
doubt, and
the lighthouse
keeper keeps
a light for
those left out.
It is intimate
and remote both
for the keeper
and those afloat.