Maxine Kumin Poems
|1.||Running Away Together||4/21/2015|
|2.||To Swim, To Believe||6/24/2015|
|6.||How It Is||1/9/2018|
|7.||In the Absence of Bliss||1/9/2018|
|12.||Whereof the Gift Is Small||1/9/2018|
|13.||Where I Live||1/9/2018|
|14.||Looking Back in My Eighty-First Year||1/9/2018|
|16.||Pantoum, With Swan||2/5/2015|
|17.||The Hermit Goes Up Attic||1/20/2003|
|20.||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 ...
In The Park
You have forty-nine days between
death and rebirth if you're a Buddhist.
Even the smallest soul could swim
the English Channel in that time
or climb, like a ten-month-old child,
every step of the Washington Monument
to travel across, up, down, over or through
--you won't know till you get there which to do.