Diving into the Wreck: Poems 1971-1972

In her 7th quantity of poetry, Adrienne wealthy searches to reclaim―to discover―what has been forgotten, misplaced, or unexplored.

"I got here to discover the break. / The phrases are reasons. / The phrases are maps. / I got here to determine the wear and tear that was once performed / and the treasures that prevail." those provocative poems flow with the facility of Rich's specified voice.

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I hate the masks you put on, your eyes assuming a intensity they don't own, drawing me into the grotto of your cranium the panorama of bone I hate your phrases they make me contemplate pretend innovative money owed crisp imitation parchment they promote at battlefields. final evening, during this room, weeping I requested you: what are you feeling? do you are feeling something? Now within the torsion of your physique as you defoliate the fields we lived from i've got your solution. eight. Dogeared earth. Wormeaten moon. A light cross-hatching of silver lies like a twine monitor at the black water. a lot of these phenomena are transitority. i might have enjoyed to reside in a global of girls and males gaily in collusion with eco-friendly leaves, stalks, development mineral towns, obvious domes, little huts of woven grass each one with its personal development— a conspiracy to coexist with the Crab Nebula, the exploding universe, the brain— nine. “The basically true love i've got ever felt used to be for kids and different ladies. every thing else used to be lust, pity, self-hatred, pity, lust. ” it is a woman’s confession. Now, glance back on the face of Botticelli’s Venus, Kali, the Judith of Chartres along with her so-called smile. 10. how we're burning up our lives testimony: the subway hurtling to Brooklyn her head on her knees asleep or drugged l. a. vía del tren subterráneo es peligrosa many sleep the total approach others take a seat staring holes of fireside into the air others plan uprising: evening after evening conscious in criminal, my brain licked on the bed like a flame until eventually the cellblock went up roaring Thoreau environment hearth to the woods each act of turning into wide awake (it says the following during this ebook) is an unnatural act 1972 III I observed a beggar leaning on his crutch, He stated to me: Why do you ask for thus a lot? I observed a lady leaning in a door, She acknowledged, Why now not, why no longer, why now not ask for extra? —Leonard Cohen’s “Bird on a twine” (as sung through Judy Collins) MERCED Fantasies of outdated age: they've got rounded us up in a rest-camp for the outworn. someplace in a few dustbowl a barbed-wire cantonment of inexpensive dustcolored prefab structures, smelling of disgrace and hopeless incontinence exact outfits of disposable paper, exact rations of chemically flavored nutrition demise so as, via gasoline, hypodermics day-by-day to neutralize melancholy So I think my global in my 70th yr alive and out of doors the barbed twine a purposeless trade of realization for the absence of discomfort. we are going to name this lifestyles. but simply final summer time I burned my toes within the sand of that valley traced by means of the thread of the chilly quickly river Merced watered through plummets of white whilst I swam, my physique ached from the righteous chilly whilst I lay again floating the jays flittered from pine to pine and the coloration moved hour via hour throughout El Capitan Our wine cooled within the water and that i watched my sons, half-men half-children, trying out their half in an international nearly archaic so worthwhile via this time that basically to step in natural water or stare into transparent air is to suppose a spasm of soreness.

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