Stephen Dobyns


Stephen Dobyns Poems

1. Why Fool Around? 8/27/2016
2. Thus He Endured 8/27/2016
3. Thelonious Monk 8/27/2016
4. The Invitations Overhead 8/27/2016
5. Cezanne and the Love of Color 8/27/2016
6. Cecil 8/27/2016
7. Sun Gazers 8/27/2016
8. Cezanne's Seclusion 8/27/2016
9. Grief 8/27/2016
10. Cezanne's Success 8/27/2016
11. The Birth Of Angels 8/27/2016
12. Do They Have A Reason? 8/27/2016
13. The Last Take-Out Supper 8/27/2016
14. SANTIAGO: FIVE MEN IN THE STREET: NUMBER ONE 8/27/2016
15. Pablo Neruda 8/27/2016
16. At the Ocean He Studied the Waves 8/27/2016
17. Sometimes Confusion Was Veil 8/27/2016
18. The Clouds Above the Mountains 8/27/2016
19. The New Austerity 8/27/2016
20. Visitor 8/27/2016
21. Consolations of Water 8/27/2016
22. The Body's Joy 8/27/2016
23. Song of Basic Necessities 8/27/2016
24. Can Poetry Matter? 8/27/2016
25. How To Like It 8/27/2016
26. Oh, Immobility, Death 8/27/2016
27. No Map 8/27/2016
28. Freight Cars 8/27/2016
29. Cemetery Nights 8/27/2016
30. Tomatoes 8/27/2016
31. The Delicate, Plummeting Bodies 8/27/2016
32. Yellow Beak 6/18/2015
33. The Street 9/30/2015
34. Over a Cup of Coffee 8/27/2016
35. It's Like This 8/27/2016
36. Lost 8/27/2016
37. Pursuit 8/27/2016
38. Waking 8/27/2016
39. Where We Are 8/27/2016
40. Loud Music 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Stephen Dobyns

Loud Music

My stepdaughter and I circle round and round.
You see, I like the music loud, the speakers
throbbing, jam-packing the room with sound whether
Bach or rock and roll, the volume cranked up so
each bass notes is like a hand smacking the gut.
But my stepdaughter disagrees. She is four
and likes the music decorous, pitched below
her own voice-that tenuous projection of self.
With music blasting, she feels she disappears,
is lost within the blare, which in fact I like.
But at four what she wants is self-location
and uses her voice as a porpoise uses
its sonar: to...

Read the full of Loud Music

Loud Music

My stepdaughter and I circle round and round.
You see, I like the music loud, the speakers
throbbing, jam-packing the room with sound whether
Bach or rock and roll, the volume cranked up so
each bass notes is like a hand smacking the gut.
But my stepdaughter disagrees. She is four
and likes the music decorous, pitched below
her own voice-that tenuous projection of self.
With music blasting, she feels she disappears,

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