December 2016
Poetry is a lonely business, but I have a friend who plays guitar, and when I play bass with him, I find community. My most recent book is In This Place: Selected Poems 1982-2013 and I've had recent poems in Hummingbird, Atticus Review, Hamilton Stone Review, and other literary magazines. I'm honored to serve as managing editor of the Lorine Niedecker Monograph Series, What Region?. I blog as The Middlewesterner (www.middlewesterner.com), and have put up at least five little poems a week since mid-2008.
Axis
Say sparrow
and finch. Say
crocus and
fescue. Firefly
and honeybee.
How far they
are beyond
name and thing,
like stars
turning, an axis
of mystery
where everything
that is, is
and is more.
We Are Rock
We are rock and
they are water.
We are sin.
They, succor.
They circle.
We walk straight.
They are candles
in a dark room,
a kind of hope.
We are ice.
Let us reach
out for them
in the stillness.
Let us hold
such ecstasy.
The surprise,
learning that
which we chose
has chosen us.
Sun in bright sky.
The fire of leaves
in the trees.
The sad wind
bringing winter.
We turn and,
suddenly,
there it is,
there it all is.
A Certain Slant
A certain slant of sun
and afternoon is done.
The autumn light fails
the way September
disappears from the trees.
All we love goes out
into the darkness.
What does the silence mean
is our last question.
When the Darkness Comes
When the darkness comes,
you come with it
and bring me your blessings.
Everywhere the wind goes,
it is as if failing light
makes its own motion.
What pushes from me
when the darkness comes,
and what can I cling to?
Somehow the blood
still finds its way
into the empty heart.
Somewhere there are stars
enough to see you by.
Say sparrow
and finch. Say
crocus and
fescue. Firefly
and honeybee.
How far they
are beyond
name and thing,
like stars
turning, an axis
of mystery
where everything
that is, is
and is more.
We Are Rock
We are rock and
they are water.
We are sin.
They, succor.
They circle.
We walk straight.
They are candles
in a dark room,
a kind of hope.
We are ice.
Let us reach
out for them
in the stillness.
Let us hold
such ecstasy.
The surprise,
learning that
which we chose
has chosen us.
Sun in bright sky.
The fire of leaves
in the trees.
The sad wind
bringing winter.
We turn and,
suddenly,
there it is,
there it all is.
A Certain Slant
A certain slant of sun
and afternoon is done.
The autumn light fails
the way September
disappears from the trees.
All we love goes out
into the darkness.
What does the silence mean
is our last question.
When the Darkness Comes
When the darkness comes,
you come with it
and bring me your blessings.
Everywhere the wind goes,
it is as if failing light
makes its own motion.
What pushes from me
when the darkness comes,
and what can I cling to?
Somehow the blood
still finds its way
into the empty heart.
Somewhere there are stars
enough to see you by.
©2016 Tom Montag
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