Erin Mouré Poems
|1.||[Lisbon is sleeping]||3/23/2017|
|2.||[I can t sleep for grief]||3/23/2017|
|3.||[My eyes, not seeing you]||3/23/2017|
|4.||[It was at the fountain where I washed my curls]||3/23/2017|
|5.||[I m going to walk to the mountain]||3/23/2017|
|6.||Theatre of the Green Leira (Mandúa)||3/23/2017|
|7.||Theatre of the Stone Chapel (Abades)||3/23/2017|
|8.||Theatre of the Hope of a Cebola (Santiso)||3/23/2017|
|9.||Theatre of the Millo Seco (Botos)||3/23/2017|
|10.||Theatre of the Stones that Ran (Fontao, 1943)||3/23/2017|
|11.||Theatre of the Peito (Santiso)||3/23/2017|
|12.||Theatre of the Confluence (A Carixa)||3/23/2017|
|13.||Theatre of the Calzada (Reboredo)||3/23/2017|
|14.||An endnote and love song:||3/23/2017|
|16.||[I ll never master the art of poetry]||3/23/2017|
|17.||The Grammar Of The Dog||3/23/2017|
|18.||[I m not pleading any thread of love]||3/23/2017|
|19.||A Real Motorcycle||3/28/2012|
|20.||An Endnote And Love Song:||11/20/2014|
Comments about Erin Mouré
There was a cold
A line of water across the chest risen
Orthograph you cherish, a hand her
Of doubt importance
Her imbroglio the winnowing of ever
An imbroglio, ever
she does repeatedly declare
to no cold end
Admonish wit, at wit's end, where "wit" is
The cold of which
her azul gaze impart a stuttered pool
Memoria address me here (green)
Her arm or name in French says "smooth"
A wine-dark seam inside the head, this ...
Courageous lair "might prevail"
Waking up to her your "yellow coal"
Steals a its way
harm's imbrogliatic murmur
has been "said"