Michael Schmidt Poems

She spun a line. She knew he was listening to her.
She spun it and he took the fraying ends.
Whatever she was saying, it was cotton,
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When I cannot believe,
The brown herds still move across green fields
Into the tufty hills, and I was born
Higher, where I could watch them as a bird might.
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'Ibelieve it would go ill with many of us, if we were faced with a
strong temptation, and I suspect that with many of us it does go ill.'
—Ivy Compton Burnett
He set out on the innocent exodus. He went at Easter
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It was the fruit I wanted, not the nest.
The nest was hanging like the richest fruit
against the sun. I took the nest
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You with the knees of a fish,
You with the fish's ears, the tongue in your round
Mouth that's nibbling the sweet air,
You with a fish's patience, on your side
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The teddy bear cholla and the fat fat


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Oh buckthorn, devil, whipple, teddy bear
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Why is his sacrifice
More suitable than mine?
I give the grain I've sown
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I was simply asleep.
There was a sound in my ear -
A form moved in my tent,
A hammer and a spike.
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…And kisses on the rowan tree
The scarlet ulcers of the unseen Christ.

Sergei Esenin, ‘Autumn' (translated by Geoffrey Thurley)
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Out loud they cry, when they come back above ground,
A cheerful judder, then the chattering jaws -
Chorus of teacups clattering on a tray -
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