isn’t it just like love?

(x)

The Ithaca Journal, New York, August 14, 1957

happy birthday to my greatest post

Genie

Good Deeds

Dignity

this morning i read this poem with a girl i tutor (who’s not a big fan of poetry) and she loved it. thank you paula bohince.

Sour Candy

I. Among twenty snowy mountains,   The only moving thing   Was the eye of the blackbird.   II. I was of three minds,   Like a tree   In which there are three blackbirds.   III. The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.   It was a small part of the pantomime.   IV. A man and a woman   Are one.   A man and a woman and a blackbird   Are one.   V. I do not know which to prefer,   The beauty of inflections   Or the beauty of innuendoes,   The blackbird whistling   Or just after.   VI. Icicles filled the long window   With barbaric glass.   The shadow of the blackbird   Crossed it, to and fro.   The mood   Traced in the shadow   An indecipherable cause.   VII. O thin men of Haddam,   Why do you imagine golden birds?   Do you not see how the blackbird   Walks around the feet   Of the women about you?   VIII. I know noble accents   And lucid, inescapable rhythms;   But I know, too,   That the blackbird is involved   In what I know.   IX. When the blackbird flew out of sight,   It marked the edge   Of one of many circles.   X. At the sight of blackbirds   Flying in a green light,   Even the bawds of euphony   Would cry out sharply.   XI. He rode over Connecticut   In a glass coach.   Once, a fear pierced him,   In that he mistook   The shadow of his equipage   For blackbirds.   XII. The river is moving.   The blackbird must be flying.   XIII. It was evening all afternoon.   It was snowing   And it was going to snow.   The blackbird sat   In the cedar-limbs.