They came for me as they came for the moon. And though they beat her heart into white necklaces and rings,* of me they wished only a mouthful of dirt.

But some still hear me when a violin moans through the piazza, trees creak their sad guitars in the bosque or shiny stones ring bells as the river splashes kisses over me.

“Prose invents – poetry discloses.” #jackspicer #afterlorca @NYRBpoets @NYRB_Imprints

Poetry is a form which makes infrequent appearances on the Ramblings, mainly when I return to my ongoing project of reading through the Penguin Modern Poets collections. I do love to read poetry, but don’t always get to it enough; however, I’ve recently started to take notice of the NYRB Poets imprint. The publisher was kind enough to send me a copy of “Magnetic Fields” by Andre Breton and…