Those blessèd structures, plot and rhyme--
why are they no help to me now
I want to make
something imagined, not recalled?
I hear the noise of my own voice:
The painter's vision is not a lens,
it trembles to caress the light.
But sometimes everything I write
with the threadbare art of my eye
seems a snapshot,
lurid, rapid, garish, grouped,
heightened from life,
yet paralyzed by fact.
Yet why not say what happened?
Pray for the grace of accuracy
Vermeer gave to the sun's illumination
stealing like the tide across a map
to his girl solid with yearning.
We are poor passing facts,
warned by that to give
each figure in the photograph
his living name.
Robert Lowell's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Epilogue by Robert Lowell )
- Press1, Harold R Hunt Sr
- BSU pride By Bo-Edward Lawrence, Bo Edward Lawrence
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- The Bird, Harold R Hunt Sr
- Essence Of Another Life, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Zion By Bo-Edward Lawrence, Bo Edward Lawrence
- The thunder and lighting., Harold R Hunt Sr
- THe Mean Man, Harold R Hunt Sr
- Jury duty, Harold R Hunt Sr
- My Body Is Not Your Temple By Bo-Edward .., Bo Edward Lawrence
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