Lisel Mueller Poems
|1.||Sometimes, When the Light||4/30/2015|
|2.||Reasons for Numbers||6/22/2015|
|3.||The End of Science Fiction||6/23/2015|
|4.||Paul Delvaux: The Village of the Mermaids||9/30/2015|
|7.||For A Thirteenth Birthday||1/13/2003|
|8.||Five For Country Music||1/13/2003|
|10.||Reading The Brothers Grimm To Jenny||1/13/2003|
|12.||A Day Like Any Other||1/13/2003|
|15.||Why We Tell Stories||1/13/2003|
|16.||The Laughter Of Women||1/13/2003|
|19.||What The Dog Perhaps Hears||1/13/2003|
|21.||Monet Refuses The Operation||1/13/2003|
Monet Refuses The Operation
Doctor, you say there are no haloes
around the streetlights in Paris
and what I see is an aberration
caused by old age, an affliction.
I tell you it has taken me all my life
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
to soften and blur and finally banish
the edges you regret I don't see,
to learn that the line I called the horizon
does not exist and sky and water,
so long apart, are the same state of being.
Fifty-four years before I could see
Rouen cathedral is built
of parallel shafts of sun,
and now you want to restore
my youthful errors: ...
The moon lies on the river
like a drop of oil.
The children come to the banks to be healed
of their wounds and bruises.
The fathers who gave them their wounds and bruises
come to be healed of their rage.
The mothers grow lovely; their faces soften,
the birds in their throats awake.
They all stand hand in hand