Howard Nemerov Poems
|42.||The View From An Attic Window||4/15/2010|
|43.||The War In The Air||4/15/2010|
|45.||To D—, Dead By Her Own Hand||4/15/2010|
|46.||To David, About His Education||5/3/2012|
|47.||Walking The Dog||1/3/2003|
|48.||Witnessing The Launch Of The Shuttle Atlantis||5/3/2012|
Because You Asked About The Line Between Prose And Poetry
Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.
There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.
The Blue Swallows
Across the millstream below the bridge
Seven blue swallows divide the air
In shapes invisible and evanescent,
Kaleidoscopic beyond the mind’s
Or memory’s power to keep them there.
“History is where tensions were,”
“Form is the diagram of forces.”
Thus, helplessly, there on the bridge,