Howard Nemerov Poems
|41.||The Host, He Says That All Is Well||4/15/2010|
|44.||Walking The Dog||1/3/2003|
|45.||Learning By Doing||1/3/2003|
|46.||The Goose Fish||1/3/2003|
|47.||Learning The Trees||1/3/2003|
|49.||Because You Asked About The Line Between Prose And Poetry||1/3/2003|
|50.||September, The First Day Of School||1/13/2003|
Comments about Howard Nemerov
September, The First Day Of School
My child and I hold hands on the way to school,
And when I leave him at the first-grade door
He cries a little but is brave; he does
Let go. My selfish tears remind me how
I cried before that door a life ago.
I may have had a hard time letting go.
Each fall the children must endure together
What every child also endures alone:
Learning the alphabet, the integers,
Three dozen bits and pieces of a stuff
So arbitrary, so peremptory,
That worlds invisible and visible
Bow down before it, as in Joseph's dream
The sheaves bowed down and then the...
A Spell Before Winter
After the red leaf and the gold have gone,
Brought down by the wind, then by hammering rain
Bruised and discolored, when October's flame
Goes blue to guttering in the cusp, this land
Sinks deeper into silence, darker into shade.
There is a knowledge in the look of things,
The old hills hunch before the north wind blows.
Now I can see certain simplicities