Poem of the Day
from Penitential Cries
By Susan Howe
Stand up facing the wall, chair behind you. Not feet splayed outward, you cannot go that low
Stand up facing the wall, chair behind you. Not feet splayed outward, you cannot go that low
The writing of poems
and the living of life
seem to require
because there is no reason for my sitting here laughing
O fate, O sad duty, / O mankind, O life, what does it mean?
I would like to devote my special attention
To this horse
Let me tell you about it
Loneliness comes rushing toward me
Why does it move so fast
When I am moving toward it
When I am dead and gone
they will say of me,
“We never could figure out
“I’m going out for a pack of cigarettes.”
At one point in the history of our language —roughly
from the 1920s into the early 1950s is my guess —those
Beautiful, an O fell from your mouth
You were born already beautiful
My little wife suggested that I tell you this story / because she received such pleasure from it, / and I such pleasure in the telling.