Showing posts from August, 2014

TWO POETS: A Poem by Neeli Cherkovski

Lombardo and Bava two Italian poets today sent poems, one from Venice, and one from Rome, Anna and Alessandra, and now I have taken the poems and began to think of the shadows and crevices, the deep gorges and simple lights, I mean I started thinking inside of the poems, as if I had been reborn in them by the simple act of reading
Anna, earnest, finding truth in things, tracking words down to the skull of a timeless memory – what poetry means to do to pull me into the sea lead me up the mountain place me in my own place shake branches of our tree late afternoon
Alessandra, vivid, a poem for Henry Miller and one on Baudelaire, a poem deep in  the maudit’s heart – she swims in mysteries of exquisite creation as word alone gathers strength by the ashen grove and speeds along across dunes and flat plains
poems at my fingertips from these two, and when I look again it’s the wisdom of not knowing everything, the peace of not being absolutely sure of all things, the gratitude for their taking the time to share