This poem is taken from PN Review 131, Volume 26 Number 3, January - February 2000.
Three PoemsW.S. Graham Reading
Word drunk was what they called him. Well:
I don't know about words.
He sat there turning the pages
unable to fix on a single verse
plaintive and truculent
quarrelling with the book,
as if to surrender to a single instance
of language
was to surrender.
Then: 'Read any one of them,' somebody cried:
'they're all marvellous!'
And we beheld a marvel:
an Archangel
a little damaged
igniting the dark firmament with speech.
...
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