Anne Carson Poems

After your death.
It was windy every day.
Every day.
Opposed us like a wall.
...

Isaiah awoke angry.
Lapping at Isaiah's ears black birdsong no it was anger.
God had filled Isaiah's ears with stingers.
...

Hanging on the daylight black.
As an overcoat with no man in it one cold bright.
Noon the Demander was waiting for me.
...

This
slow
day
moves
...

Major things are wind, evil, a good fighting horse,
prepositions, inexhaustible love, the way people
choose their king. Minor things include dirt,
the names of schools of philosophy, mood and
not having a mood, the correct time. There
are more major things than minor things
overall, yet there are more minor things
than I have written here, but it is
disheartening to list them. When I
think of you reading this I do not
want you to be taken captive,
separated by a wire mesh lined with glass
from your life itself, like some Elektra.
...

Tell me.
Have you ever seen woods so.
Deep so.
Every tree a word does your heart stop?
Once I saw a cloud over Bolivia so deep.
...

She ran in.
Wet corn.
Yellow braid.
Down her back.
...

With small cuts Cro-Magnon man recorded
the moon's phases on the handles of his
tools, thinking about her as he worked.
Animals. Horizon. Face in a pan of
water. In every story I tell comes
a point where I can see no further.
I hate that point. It is why they
call storytellers blind—a taunt.
...

Their faces I thought were knives.
The way they pointed them at me.
And waited.
...

'Spring is always like what it used to be.'
Said an old Chinese man.
Rain hissed down the windows.
...