By Willis, Elizabeth
Deal with attracts us into noticeable and invisible architectures, into acts of intimate and public handle. those poems are targeted, polyvocal, and sharply aware of acts of illustration; they take in my opinion their politics and within the method exhibit whatever concerning the approach civic constructions inhabit the mind's eye. toxic crops, witches, anthems, bees—beneath their floor, we glimpse the fragility of our founding, republican aspirations and witness a disintegrating panorama artfully reworked. If a poem can function a type of astrolabe, measuring distances either cosmic and instant, temporal and actual, it does so by way of ingenious, nonlinear capacity. right here, prior and current interact in acts of mutual interrogation and critique, and inside this dynamic Willis’s poetry is without delay complexly authoritative and looking: “so starts off our legislation.”
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A witch desires to walk rather than be carried or pushed in a cart. When walking a witch will turn suddenly and pretend to look at something very small. The happiness of an entire house may be ruined by witch hair touching a metal cross. The devil does not speak to a witch. He only moves his tongue. An executioner may find the body of a witch insensitive to an iron spike. An unrepentant witch may be converted with a little lead in the eye. Enchanting witchpowder may be hidden in a girl’s hair. When a witch is hungry, she can make a soup by stirring water with her hand.
Sooner or later I’ll be sliding to the other side. I’ll be in the Senate like a tongue in a bottle. I have never attempted to take responsibility for the space shuttle’s successful lunch, though I am a firm advocate of low-carb monosyllabic government and have committed adultery with unemployment figures and have enjoyed a pun or two of my own. ” When I came out against the sex trade it was not about me it was about money. When it was not about money it was about Congress. 34 ) ) ) When it was not about the sanctity of the House it was about the future of the Senate and when it was not about that, it was about Dynasty, which I recommend in reruns, and when it was not about family executive privilege, it was about real estate.
You’d better think twice before you write this down because I’ve got friends who’ve got friends in the irs and aviation who know how to read. You’d better decide that we’ve never had sex that the mic didn’t work that you got it all wrong that I only resemble the fox you describe that all of us were acting the only way we knew how. ( ( ( 37 year-end review Here follows an addled replica What follows here is almost the real thing What you are being exposed to is a polished version of a once intractable experiment Here follows an almost urgent reply This is a picture of a man who read a book This is his hand pulling the heart out of a living poem Here is a pink ruffle emerging from landfill at the edge of an unaffordable city This is the town that could not afford to resist the cement plant This is the face of a woman unable to look you in the eye Here is the mouth of the boy who died in dynastic battle Here lies the horse you rode in on The grill is about to be lit beneath your expensive silicon brain Oh the lies of ordinary people jumping rope beneath the trees in a dream of gratitude 38 ) ) ) Here are the undeliverable sanctions that would have failed anyway What follows is the future still available in black lowered from a great height ( ( ( 39 january My office alerts me I have only so much time Prosperity is just around that hairpin turn In this way the poem lays its hand against your head Its words are using you to power-down the view Thinking like a cloth means taking on a darker black I’m that thirsty in the middle of the day This bent hour finds its way into your hand Like a cane or a whip like a feather or a pen It only exists in one place at a time 40 ) ) ) blasted hymn Morning swings its wave above your head A proper undertow of history and ahistory, the bank with its barricade of brass Winterkill against the outweighed garden A vase obstructing your pictorial turn It’s coming on like a cold It’s filling your sails with a future-scented wind Heaven help you keep its secrets You who placed your trust like a pearl into this dirty shell The force of habit takes you on like a chair you think you’ll paint or lean on ( ( ( 41 may day for Robert Creeley I too lived in Arcadia in a house made of straw a gutter world of kindness The poet’s secret is nothing to lose How fierce the life projects into a line or is it the other way rain falling upward?