David Ignatow

David Ignatow Poems

When I die choose a star
and name it after me
that you may know
I have not abandoned
...

I stopped to pick up the bagel
rolling away in the wind,
annoyed with myself
for having dropped it
...

I close my eyes like a good little boy at night in bed,
as I was told to do by my mother when she lived,
...

As I reach to close each book
lying open on my desk, it leaps up
to snap at my fingers. My legs
...

Whatever we do, whether we light
strangers’ cigarettes—it may turn out
to be a detective wanting to know who is free
...

I am looking for a past
I can rely on
in order to look to death
with equanimity.
...

This tree has two million and seventy-five thousand leaves.
Perhaps I missed a leaf or two but I do feel triumphant
...

You wept in your mother's arms
and I knew that from then on
I was to forget myself.
...

As I enter the theatre the play is going on.
I hear the father say to the son on stage,
You’ve taken the motor apart.
...

I am leaving earth with little knowledge of it,
without having visited its great cities and lands
I was here for a moment, it seems, to praise,
and now that I am leaving I am astounded
...

Here in bed behind a brick wall
I can make order and meaning,
but how do I begin? How do I
emerge without panic
...

She was saying mad things:
'To hell with the world!
Love is all you need! Go on
and get it! What are you
...

I'm very pleased to be a body. Can there be someone without a body?
As you hold mine I feel firmly assured that bodies are the right thing
and I think all life is a body. I'm happy about trees, grass and water,
especially with the sun shining on it. I slip into it, a summer pleasure.
...

I stand and listen, head bowed,
to my inner complaint.
Persons passing by think
I am searching for a lost coin.
...

Interesting that I have to live with my skeleton.
It stands, prepared to emerge, and I carry it
...

I dream I am lying in the mud on my back and staring up into the sky.
Which do I prefer, since I have the power to fly into the blue slate of
air? It is summer. I decide quickly that by lying face up I have a view
of the sky I could not get by flying in it, while I'd be missing the mud.
...

Without sexual attraction, there is
the brutal movement of the sea.
The face peers out of its skeletal frame
and hands reach like bone.
...

We drop in the evening like dew
upon the ground and the living
feel it on their faces. Death
soft, moist everywhere upon us,
...

Finally, to forgo love is to kiss a leaf,
is to let rain fall nakedly upon your head,
is to respect fire,
is to study man's eyes and his gestures
...

20.

It is heart-rending to know a kiss
cannot cure the world of its illnesses,
nor can your happiness, nor your tragedy
of being a discrete person, for the bodies
...

David Ignatow Biography

Born in Brooklyn on February 7, 1914, and spent most of his life in the New York City area. Career Ignatow began his professional career as a businessman. After committing wholly to poetry, Ignatow worked as an editor of American Poetry Review, Analytic, Beloit Poetry Journal, and Chelsea Magazine, and as poetry editor of The Nation. He taught at the New School for Social Research, the University of Kentucky, the University of Kansas, Vassar College, York College of the City University of New York, New York University, and Columbia University. He was president of the Poetry Society of America from 1980 to 1984 and poet-in-residence at the Walt Whitman Birthplace Association in 1987. He died on November 17, 1997, at his home in East Hampton, New York. Awards Mr. Ignatow's many honors include a Bollingen Prize, two Guggenheim fellowships, the John Steinbeck Award, and a National Institute of Arts and Letters award "for a lifetime of creative effort." He received the Shelley Memorial Award (1966), the Frost Medal (1992), and the William Carlos Williams Award (1997) of the Poetry Society of America.)

The Best Poem Of David Ignatow

For My Daughter

When I die choose a star
and name it after me
that you may know
I have not abandoned
or forgotten you.
You were such a star to me,
following you through birth
and childhood, my hand
in your hand.

When I die
choose a star and name it
after me so that I may shine
down on you, until you join
me in darkness and silence
together.

David Ignatow Comments

Elizabeth jeszeck 22 April 2018

The poem with the first ine one leaf left on a branch is a very moving poem that set me back on my heels.

1 0 Reply
Elizabeth Jeszeck 22 April 2018

The poem with the first ine one leaf le

0 0 Reply

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