Fanny Howe Poems
|2.||One Night in Balthazar||10/29/2015|
|4.||You Can't Warm Your Hands in Front of a Book but You Can Warm Your Hopes There||2/18/2016|
|5.||Everything's a Fake||4/7/2016|
|6.||The Advance of the Father||9/24/2016|
|13.||A Poem for Ciaran||9/24/2016|
|16.||What Did You See?||9/24/2016|
|18.||Now I Get It||10/19/2016|
|19.||Third Word from the East||10/19/2016|
|20.||Far and Away [excerpt]||10/19/2016|
Comments about Fanny Howe
The fields are infertile
as far as I can tell.
Their winter systems
sparkle like the diamonds
that pelt Neptune.
reflect in the dark
museums and theaters
back in town.
To them we run
to elevate our eyes
to a well-shaped ethics.
Colors are supplied
by our nervous minds.
Towards a just
and invisible image
behind each substance
and its place in a sentence
you must have been walking.
when lost from wanting.
Be like grass, she told me,
lie flat, spring ...
There is no Rescue Mission where it isn't freezing
from the need that created it. The lost children
distill to pure chemical. Where Good is called No-Tone
it's the one who cries out who doesn't get a coat.
The children fuse colors because they don't want to
separate. Daughters shot off of hydrants who cut