Erin Mouré Poems
|1.||The Grammar Of The Dog||3/23/2017|
|2.||An endnote and love song:||3/23/2017|
|4.||[I ll never master the art of poetry]||3/23/2017|
|5.||[Lisbon is sleeping]||3/23/2017|
|6.||[I can t sleep for grief]||3/23/2017|
|7.||[My eyes, not seeing you]||3/23/2017|
|8.||[It was at the fountain where I washed my curls]||3/23/2017|
|9.||[I m not pleading any thread of love]||3/23/2017|
|10.||[I m going to walk to the mountain]||3/23/2017|
|11.||Theatre of the Green Leira (Mandúa)||3/23/2017|
|12.||Theatre of the Stone Chapel (Abades)||3/23/2017|
|13.||Theatre of the Hope of a Cebola (Santiso)||3/23/2017|
|14.||Theatre of the Millo Seco (Botos)||3/23/2017|
|15.||Theatre of the Stones that Ran (Fontao, 1943)||3/23/2017|
|16.||Theatre of the Peito (Santiso)||3/23/2017|
|17.||Theatre of the Confluence (A Carixa)||3/23/2017|
|18.||Theatre of the Calzada (Reboredo)||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 ...
A Real Motorcycle
Unspeakable. The word that fills up the
poem, that the head
tries to excise.
At 6 a.m., the wet lion. Its sewn plush face
on the porch rail in the rain.
Heavy rains later, & maybe a thunderstorm.
12 or 13 degrees.
Inside: an iris, candle, poster of the