This poem is taken from PN Review 137, Volume 27 Number 3, January - February 2001.
Nine PoemsStones
After three days
I am familiar with stones
how they talk: chirp, clink,
clatter, grumble,
and how they accede,
gripping like molar roots
or giving themselves up
to the rake's sensual tickle,
but most of all
how they endlessly
emerge: a place
seems pure tilth,
fine-grained as coffee,
when slowly,
like a drowned rising,
a pale stone-face
...
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 284 issues containing over 11,400 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 284 issues containing over 11,400 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
