Jean Valentine Poems
|1.||Poem from the Russian||6/22/2015|
|4.||Hospital: Strange Lights||3/5/2014|
|5.||La Chalupa, The Boat||3/5/2014|
|8.||To The Black Madonna Of Chartres||3/5/2014|
|9.||I Have Lived In Your Face||3/5/2014|
|10.||Fellini in Purgatory||6/22/2015|
|13.||Father Lynch Returns From The Dead||3/5/2014|
|15.||The One You Wanted To Be Is The One You Are||2/19/2015|
|20.||Elegy For Jane Kenyon (2)||1/13/2003|
|22.||To Plath, To Sexton||1/13/2003|
To Plath, To Sexton
So what use was poetry
to a white empty house?
Wolf, swan, hare,
in by the fire.
And when your tree
crashed through your house,
what use then
was all your power?
It was the use of you.
It was the flower.
We met for supper in your flat-bottomed boat.
I got there first: in a white dress: I remember
Wondering if you'd come. Then you shot over the bank,
A Virgilian Nigger Jim, and poled us off
To a little sea-food barker's cave you knew.
What'll you have? you said. Eels hung down,
Bamboozled claws hung up from the crackling weeds.
The light was all behind us. To one side