The letters always just evade the hand
One skates like a stone into a beam, falls like a bird.
Surely the past from which the letters rise
Is waiting in the future, past the graves?
The soldiers are all haunted by their lives.
Their claims upon their kind are paid in paper
That established a presence, like a smell.
In letters and in dreams they see the world.
They are waiting: and the years contract
To an empty hand, to one unuttered sound --
The soldier simply wishes for his name.
Randall Jarrell's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Mail Call by Randall Jarrell )
- Season is unfavorable,, Aftab Alam
- English As My Second Language, Tony Adah
- Without Taking A Breath, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- I wonder if all men long for a girl… (ca.., Gert Strydom
- Is it absurd to fall too deep?, Mark Heathcote
- Kindness Begets Kindness, Tony Adah
- कलेजनि अनजालिनिसिम: दोँसे खन्थाय, Bahadur Basumatary
- Deep Within, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Gleaming Moon Walked With Me,, Aftab Alam
- I choose nature to you, Vidura Prabhath
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