Gerald Stern

Gerald Stern Poems

1. The Sparrow 5/22/2015
2. The Name 9/15/2015
3. Magnolia 10/13/2015
4. Loneliness 6/29/2017
5. The Jew and the Rooster Are One 6/29/2017
6. Journey 6/29/2017
7. Kissing Stieglitz Good-Bye 6/29/2017
8. Leaves 6/29/2017
9. Bolero 6/29/2017
10. Box of Cigars 6/29/2017
11. In Beauty Bright 6/29/2017
12. In Time 6/29/2017
13. The Inkspots 6/29/2017
14. Much Better Than a Goat 6/29/2017
15. The Red Coal 6/29/2017
16. Still Burning 6/29/2017
17. Swifts 6/29/2017
18. Sylvia 6/29/2017
19. This Is It 6/29/2017
20. No One 6/29/2017
21. Visit from Mars 6/29/2017
22. Blue Particles 6/29/2017
23. Galaxy Love 6/29/2017
24. Read Genesis 6/29/2017
25. Books 6/29/2017
26. Glut 6/29/2017
27. The Preacher [As if the one tree you love] 6/29/2017
28. My Sister's Funeral 6/29/2017
29. Hemingway's House 6/30/2017
30. I Sometimes Think of the Lamb 6/30/2017
31. Lilacs for Ginsberg 6/30/2017
32. Lilies 6/30/2017
33. Drowning on the Pamet River 6/30/2017
34. Roses 6/30/2017
35. Save the Last Dance for Me 6/30/2017
36. Shouldering 6/30/2017
37. Day Of Grief 3/12/2015
38. Another Insane Devotion 1/7/2015
39. The Dog 1/6/2015
40. Waving Goodbye 1/21/2015

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Best Poem of Gerald Stern

The Dancing

In all these rotten shops, in all this broken furniture
and wrinkled ties and baseball trophies and coffee pots
I have never seen a post-war Philco
with the automatic eye
nor heard Ravel's "Bolero" the way I did
in 1945 in that tiny living room
on Beechwood Boulevard, nor danced as I did
then, my knives all flashing, my hair all streaming,
my mother red with laughter, my father cupping
his left hand under his armpit, doing the dance
of old Ukraine, the sound of his skin half drum,
half fart, the world at last a meadow,
the three of us whirling and...

Read the full of The Dancing


Of all sixty of us I am the only one who went
to the four corners though I don't say it
out of pride but more like a type of regret,
and I did it because there was no one I truly believed
in though once when I climbed the hill in Skye
and arrived at the rough tables I saw the only other
elder who was a vegetarian--in Scotland--
and visited Orwell and rode a small motorcycle
to get from place to place; and I immediately

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