Marilyn Hacker Poems
|2.||Against Elegies -new-||5/23/2016|
|4.||Days of 1994: Alexandrians -new-||5/23/2016|
|5.||[Didn't Sappho say her guts clutched up like this?] -new-||5/23/2016|
|6.||Elegy for a Soldier -new-||5/23/2016|
|7.||from Paragraphs from a Day-Book (section 1 only) -new-||5/23/2016|
|8.||Nights of 1964—1966: The Old Reliable -new-||5/23/2016|
|9.||Crepuscule with Muriel -new-||5/23/2016|
|10.||Paragraphs From A Day-Book||1/3/2003|
|11.||For K. J., Leaving And Coming Back||1/3/2003|
|13.||Scars On Paper||1/3/2003|
|17.||Rune Of The Finland Woman||1/3/2003|
|19.||Nearly A Valediction||1/3/2003|
Spring wafts up the smell of bus exhaust, of bread
and fried potatoes, tips green on the branches,
repeats old news: arrogance, ignorance, war.
A cinder-block wall shared by two houses
is new rubble. On one side was a kitchen
sink and a cupboard, on the other was
a bed, a bookshelf, three framed photographs.
Glass is shattered across the photographs;
two half-circles of hardened pocket bread
sit on the cupboard. There provisionally was
shelter, a plastic truck under the branches
of a fig tree. A knife flashed in the kitchen,
merely dicing garlic. Engines...
It is the boy in me who's looking out
the window, while someone across the street
mends a pillowcase, clouds shift, the gutter spout
pours rain, someone else lights a cigarette?
(Because he flinched, because he didn't whirl
around, face them, because he didn't hurl
the challenge back—"Fascists?"—not "Faggots"—Swine!
he briefly wonders—if he were a girl . . .)