That's what I want, that kind of recklessness where the poem is even ahead of you. It's like riding a horse that's a little too wild for you, so there's this tension between what you can do and what the horse decides it's going to do.
Li-Young LeeTags: poetry
I don't mind suffering as long as it's really about something. I don't mind great luck, if it's about something. If it's the hollow stuff, then there's no gift, one way or the other.
Li-Young LeePeople who read poetry have heard about the burning bush, but when you write poetry, you sit inside the burning bush.
Li-Young LeeMemory revises me.
Li-Young LeeTags: poetry
Moonlight and high wind.
Dark poplars toss, insinuate the sea.
Tags: poetry
The moon from any window is one part
whoever’s looking.
The part I can’t see
is everything my sister keeps to herself.
One part my dead brother’s sleepless brow,
the other part the time I waste, the time
I won’t have.
But which is the lion
killed for the sake of the honey inside him,
and which the wine, stranded
in a valley, unredeemed?
And don’t forget the curtains. Don’t forget the wind
in the trees, or my mother’s voice saying things
that will take my whole life to come true.
One part earnest child grown tall
in his mother’s doorway, and one a last look
over the shoulder before leaving.
And never forget it answers to no address,
but calls wave after wave
to a path or thirst. Never forget
the candle climbing down
without glancing back.
And what about the heart
counting alone, out loud, in that game
in which the many hide from the one?
Never forget the cry
completely hollowed of the dying one
who cried it.
Only in such pure outpouring
is there room for all this night.
I buried my father in my heart.
Now he grows in me, my strange son,
my little root who won’t drink milk,
little pale foot sunk in unheard-of night,
little clock spring newly wet
in the fire, little grape, parent to the future
wine, a son the fruit of his own son,
little father I ransom with my life
Tags: father
I am that last, that
final thing, the body
in a white sheet listening,
Tags: poetry
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