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Someone asked me the other day — "what's the sort of poem
do you like?"
All types!
But here's one I read the night before, before falling off to sleep, and I marked it:
The untitled poem is by Douglas Crase from his forthcoming book
The Revisionist and The Astropastorals
(Nightboat Books, 2019)
_______________________
Under the rim of maybe
Back on the edge of regret
Around the corner from should have
Down the street from forget
Out on a limb with willing
Too far gone to remark
Close to the tip of almost
Up slip creek in the dark
Orion In December
Charles Burchfield's painting and note
"tortured by a multitude of thoughts,"
he lay awake, looking at luminous sky
"black studded caves" of night
first two emerging stars
then a third, Orion's belt
"peace and comfort"
came with recognition,
with resolution and familiarity,
"some Being saying 'All is well' "
. . .
This night, Orion
enormous in the East
—tremulous sky
pines dark
against starlight
—the constellations
no longer testify
even as they offer
"diadems"
the word cries out
thrall of space
but legato to emptiness
learning
that brought us close,
companionate
with loneliness
even as we pointed
to clustered stars
in those dark nights,
soulless nights
of stellar distances
————————
Michael Heller
DIANOIA
Night boat Books
2016