Maxine Kumin Poems
|1.||Running Away Together||4/21/2015|
|2.||How It Is||1/9/2018|
|3.||In the Absence of Bliss||1/9/2018|
|5.||Looking Back in My Eighty-First Year||1/9/2018|
|11.||Whereof the Gift Is Small||1/9/2018|
|12.||Where I Live||1/9/2018|
|13.||Pantoum, With Swan||2/5/2015|
|14.||To Swim, To Believe||6/24/2015|
|16.||The Hermit Goes Up Attic||1/20/2003|
|19.||In The Park||1/20/2003|
Comments about Maxine Kumin
Gassing the woodchucks didn't turn out right.
The knockout bomb from the Feed and Grain Exchange
was featured as merciful, quick at the bone
and the case we had against them was airtight,
both exits shoehorned shut with puddingstone,
but they had a sub-sub-basement out of range.
Next morning they turned up again, no worse
for the cyanide than we for our cigarettes
and state-store Scotch, all of us up to scratch.
They brought down the marigolds as a matter of course
and then took over the vegetable patch
nipping the broccoli shoots, beheading the ...
She was twenty-two. He was fifty-three,
a duke, a widower with ten children.
They met in Paris, each in exile from
the English Civil War. Virginal
and terrified, still she agreed
to marry him. Though women were mere chattel