Louise Bogan

(August 11, 1897 – February 4, 1970 / Maine)

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Last Hill in a Vista


Come, let us tell the weeds in ditches
How we are poor, who once had riches,
And lie out in the sparse and sodden
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  • Michelle Claus (4/7/2014 3:24:00 PM)

    I'm hearing in this poem how we once lived more in sync with nature, more outdoors. Suburban and urban lifestyles - human-made villages, as it were - remove us from our origin. Not sure about loosen into a little smoke. Is she referring to houses made of poplar and oak, with smoke issuing from chimneys? Or maybe our nature-communion past is up in smoke, a vanishing memory? (Report) Reply

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