Miroslav Holub
Miroslav Holub Poems
On the express train to Vienna
she writes in her diary
notes about Rome and Naples.
...
The bird had come to the very end of its song
and the tree was dissolving under its claws.
...
You take a kitchen-mallet
and a knife
and hit
the right spot, so it doesn't jerk, for
...
Fish
always accurately know where to move and when,
and likewise
birds have an accurate built-in time sense
...
Given an old woman and given a barrow.
I.e. the system old woman O and barrow B.
The system is moving from the paved yard Y to the corner C,
from the corner C to the Stone S, from the stone S
...
The Best Poem Of Miroslav Holub
Creative Writing
On the express train to Vienna
she writes in her diary
notes about Rome and Naples.
Ink marks like parthenogenetic aphids,
pages like blood smears
of homing pigeons.
She is alone, gray, reconciled,
a Leda long after the swan's departure,
Odysseus retired at Lotophagitis.
Back home, in Maryland,
the notebook will be interred
in the archetypal drawer,
among the yellowed love letters,
among the infant hair curls,
among the dried adult flowers,
near the cushion where the castrated cat dreams
while Mahler's forever forever forever
chokes in the green wallpaper.
It is her message to imagined little sons;
it is her membership in the club
of Swifts, Goethes, Rimbauds, Horatiuses and
deathwatch beetles.
It is her monument outlasting bronze,
five-dimensional reality, the last engraving
of primeval man on reindeer bone,
the last drop
of the fluid soul
before evaporation
Miroslav Holub Comments
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11/7/2026 8:14:52 PM # rel_20261026T125300Z_a7741e1
