Friday, April 4, 2008

Poem of the Day: "Anonymous Poet"

So, fellow poetry fans, what is suggested here about the nature of poems and poetry? I don't suggest very much turns on the question -- I just like the image and the idea sketched here.

Stanley Moss, "Anonymous Poet"

Sometimes I would see her with her lovers
walking through the Village, the wind
strapped about her ankles.
Simply being, she fought
against the enemies of love and poetry
like Achilles in wrath.
Her tongue was not a lake,
but it lifted her lovers
with the gentle strength of a lake
that lifts a cove of waterlilies—
her blue eyes, the sky above them—
till night fell and the mysteries began.
My friend I love, poet I love,
if you are not reading or writing tonight
on your Underwood typewriter,
if no one is kissing you, death is real.

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