Christian Wiman Poems
|2.||Rhymes For A Watertower||7/21/2014|
|3.||After the Diagnosis||3/27/2017|
|4.||All Good Conductors||3/27/2017|
|6.||Lord Is Not a Word||3/27/2017|
|9.||More Like the Stars||3/27/2017|
|10.||My Stop is Grand||3/27/2017|
|11.||The Preacher Addresses the Seminarians||3/27/2017|
|12.||Sitting Down to Breakfast Alone||3/27/2017|
|13.||This Inwardness, This Ice||7/21/2014|
|15.||Do You Remember The Rude Nudists||11/21/2014|
|16.||Night's Thousand Shadows||7/21/2014|
|17.||The Last Hour||7/21/2014|
|18.||From One Time||7/21/2014|
|19.||The Ice Storm||7/21/2014|
|20.||From A Window||12/23/2014|
Comments about Christian Wiman
From A Window
Incurable and unbelieving
in any truth but the truth of grieving,
I saw a tree inside a tree
as if the leaves had livelier ghosts.
I pressed my face as close
to the pane as I could get
to watch that fitful, fluent spirit
that seemed a single being undefined
or countless beings of one mind
haul its strange cohesion
beyond the limits of my vision
over the house heavenwards.
Of course I knew those leaves were birds.
Of course that old tree stood
exactly as it had and would
(but why should it ...
The Ice Storm
Then all one day because of ice
they couldn't make it down the hill.
Or up, James says,
dabbing at a spill
of coffee, crunching toast as if it had a spine.
But he could work, at any rate,
on that book he's been reading,
or meaning to,