It's been a long while since I've bought a book of poetry, new. You'll remember that I often regale you with what I receive from the Academy of American Poets Poem-A-Day email offerings. I know that I'm probably regaling people who are, themselves, subscribers, but the joy of it is not being able to help one's self when confronted with something wonderful.
Today's submission is so wonderful that I've already ordered everything that I can find in published, hold-in-the-hand form by the poet Farid Matuk.
Since maybe you aren't quite awake from your mid-afternoon nap, or maybe you're rushing off to a second-shift job, or a late seminar... or maybe you take your poetry slow -- I'm just giving you what I was given: One poem.
My Daughter All Yourn
by Farid Matuk
will she be closer to the falling away of the gaze of
things than others?
hands on the water she calls scene setting
hands on the table water over the houses and hills
swimming
not the ocean or the sea but the frame of time she'll
tell of
wild happy yeses in her hands
she bites through in rage when rage
comes to her or we do and she's too small a flag
what does our house say? these borrowed things solid
and whole
fabric lost to her a greasy boy speaks fast at the
pizza stand
more available to be seen the young in their concerns
amidst the old artifice paint a boat and it will mean
a dream
put names of your dear ones in it all yourn standing up
these little soft hands she bites through the bright
white light of summer
shines off sand and vinyl siding itself composed against
the salt
Today's submission is so wonderful that I've already ordered everything that I can find in published, hold-in-the-hand form by the poet Farid Matuk.
My Daughter All Yourn
by Farid Matuk
will she be closer to the falling away of the gaze of
things than others?
hands on the water she calls scene setting
hands on the table water over the houses and hills
swimming
not the ocean or the sea but the frame of time she'll
tell of
wild happy yeses in her hands
she bites through in rage when rage
comes to her or we do and she's too small a flag
what does our house say? these borrowed things solid
and whole
fabric lost to her a greasy boy speaks fast at the
pizza stand
more available to be seen the young in their concerns
amidst the old artifice paint a boat and it will mean
a dream
put names of your dear ones in it all yourn standing up
these little soft hands she bites through the bright
white light of summer
shines off sand and vinyl siding itself composed against
the salt
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