Friday, November 09, 2007

Jane Cooper, 1924-2007

From "March," a poem in eight parts


An air of departures. Silences.
Again the pines are sheathed in a wet snow.
The chimney breathes its slow, transparent smoke.

Everything has been offered, nothing given.
Everything, not the first thing has been said.
After me who will sit here, patiently writing?

Words over a page: a slow smoke
scrolling across the sky what is unconsumed
by the deep, thunderous fires of the house--

An air of departures. Now the tall city
stoops to receive us, where we blur like snow
leaving behind a breath of loves and angers.

First published in The Weather of Six Mornings: Poems 1954-1967 (1969)


Blogger A Kite Rises said...

Lovely poem with imagery like photographs. The illustration is intriguing: is this yours auk wrecks & ark larks? The little stick/figures appear to be climbing a page like a stairs to Heavan :)

November 13, 2007 at 4:56 AM  
Blogger kookaburra said...

Yeah, the figures do indeed seem to be ascending....

Oh, & yes, the image is mine (it's a painting with a triangle of an old book page in the lower corner), as is everything on this blog. Although that sometimes confuses readers who don't expect different styles/media from one person.

November 13, 2007 at 12:29 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

"I'll build a stairway to paradise, with a new step every day..."

When did Jane Cooper die?

November 13, 2007 at 1:02 PM  

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