Stephen Dobyns


Stephen Dobyns Poems

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

Yellow Beak

A man owns a green parrot with a yellow beak
that he carries on his shoulder each day to work.
He runs a pet shop and the parrot is his trademark.

Each morning the man winds his way from his bus
through the square, four or five blocks. There goes
the parrot, people say. Then at night, he comes back.

The man himself is nondescript—a little overweight,

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