Retrospective, With The Architect - Poem by Ian Blake
We look on over the flood
The city block beneath me, for once.
A spiral staircase on its side sticks out,
A plaything for the trout, no entrance
It will take millions to repair this,
I offer. But dammit, I don’t care;
I loved this block.
He seems not
To hear me. A floating stop sign
Goes on by until it’s cut off
By a yield sign that won’t give way.
Not one to miss an irony, he laughs,
The rain sings on like a telegraph talks.
Go on with your devotional, he says to the drops.
I built all this for you.
For them, I ask, surprised, a little jealous,
Not for us – or even your art?
Good God, he replies.
Every rock I pull from earth
Longs to be engulfed again
Bound like a homing pigeon.
Can you imagine ever that I studied,
And aligned my T-square
And wanted to design
Wetter than water?
Let the currents whip around my staircase,
Badly as they want to, for sooner or later,
They would have changed it to an elevator.
I withdrew the question, but secretly I prayed
The blueprints hadn’t gone out with the tide.
Comments about Retrospective, With The Architect by Ian Blake
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You