Russell Edson Poems
|4.||The Lighted Window||1/13/2003|
|6.||The Death Of A Fly||1/13/2003|
|7.||The Man Rock||1/13/2003|
|9.||The Gentlemen In The Meadow||1/13/2003|
|11.||The Sad Message||1/13/2003|
|12.||The Alfresco Moment||1/13/2003|
|15.||The Wounded Breakfast||1/13/2003|
|16.||The Father Of Toads||1/13/2003|
|19.||The Having To Love Something Else||1/13/2003|
|21.||The Rat's Tight Schedule||1/13/2003|
|23.||The Reason Why The Closet-Man Is Never Sad||1/13/2003|
|24.||The Marionettes Of Distant Masters||1/13/2003|
|25.||The Family Monkey||1/13/2003|
|32.||Paying The Captain||1/13/2003|
|40.||Ape And Coffee||1/13/2003|
Comments about Russell Edson
One Lonely Afternoon
Since the fern can't go to the sink for a drink of
water, I graciously submit myself to the task, bringing two
glasses from the sink.
And so we sit, the fern and I, sipping water together.
Of course I'm more complex than a fern, full of deep
thoughts as I am. But I lay this aside for the easy company
of an afternoon friendship.
I don't mind sipping water with a fern, even though,
had I my druthers, I'd be speeding through the sky for
Stockholm, sipping a bloody mary with a wedge of lime.
And so we sit one lonely afternoon sipping ...
In his travels he comes to a bridge made entirely of bones.
Before crossing he writes a letter to his mother: Dear mother,
guess what? the ape accidentally bit off one of his hands while
eating a banana. Just now I am at the foot of a bone bridge. I
shall be crossing it shortly. I don't know if I shall find hills and
valleys made of flesh on the other side, or simply constant
night, villages of sleep. The ape is scolding me for not teaching
him better. I am letting him wear my pith