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About Lucie Brock- Broida’s “Real Life”
About Lucie Brock- Broida’s “Real Life” As I was scrolling through my Facebook feed on Monday, after having posted the previous blog earlier in the day, I discovered Lucie Brock- Broida’s (1956- 2018) poem, “Real Life” (poets.org>poem>real-life). I say discovered because I’d never encountered the poem before. “Real Life” was published in Brock- Broida’s first Continue reading
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the boy who plays the flute
the boy who plays the flutebreathes gentle breath over the lip brimand across the open mouth of oh a sticka dead stickthat lays across his youthful handsa stick straight as rigor mortishis eyes whirl to their cornersacross the square comes the constablecomes to send him home himand the boy who strums the luteand the boy Continue reading
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if this german field were in denmark
if this german field were in denmarkif marcellus livedthat faraway father leaned on a scytheat a distance where i can’t see that he has eyesor teeth that keep his face from collapse or if he’s aged down to three teeth or two or one or toothless his face collapsedthat distant face is a patch of Continue reading
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on the corner in market square
on the corner in market squarewhere the door opens into the black eaglethe weaver’s son become the printer’s devil regard how the inks on his four fingers and on his thumb dance on the lute strings pluckedby the inks on his other hand’s greeter and thumb regard but regard too much you’ll miss how his Continue reading
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after i’d returned
after i’d returnedfrom the blood rugged floors of elsinorewhen those harvestedby poison on the foil’s bladeby poison in the wine gobletwith the crop of maggots plantedi returned to the varnishedoakwood of a classroom in the leucorea resumed my consumption of the germ of luther’s philosophyit sprouts in me still it sprouts outinto the sermon i Continue reading
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the baker woman sells white loaves
the baker woman sells white loavesand loaves of rye and loaves of barley and oatsthe butcher’s boy sells pork scraps for stewand chickens and plucked caponsthe pedlar sells gold and alcohol andalchemy in jars of elixir from his cartgive them all to think you’re deafthen hear mrs kretschner ask if you wanta cup of ale Continue reading
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after i’d returned from elsinore
after i’d returned from elsinoreresumed my education learnedhow to write a sermon how to preachon one two day ride away from wittenbergon a horse old and lame and plodding takenfrom the university’s stable to ministerto a peasant village near zwickau from a path grooved through grass verticalgrain headed in the air and grass choppedhorizontal to Continue reading
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go now from here to market square
go now from here to market squareevery week on my way to the black eagle the widow wittner and her sister startconversations with me they ask if there’s baptism on sundayor if it’s time for the lord’s supperi think they’d rather be wives than widowsshake your head when you meet themthen hurry your steps towardyesterday Continue reading
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after the clock’s hands
after the clock’s hands climbed to the top of my time pieceafter our feet stepped up spiral stairs to the top of the rampartsbefore the one o’clock black was extinguishedand the out of time specter of the grieving king was ignitedmarcellus looked out over the parapet all i saw was how dark it was i Continue reading
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at the black eagle yesterday i met
at the black eagle yesterday i meta mercenary named kehrina soldier amputatedbelow the knee down to a beggara deserving beggaramputated from a cruel career downto holding his hand out for a kindnesshe brought old reports from ghent abandoned by the dutchstarved by the spaniardi bought tankards of beer for him to make the old news Continue reading
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between that place
between that placewhen the light that litinto the specter of the deadking extinguishedand that place when that lightthat lit into that specter reignitedmarcellus leaneddown on his hands on the parapet peeredinto the horizontal abyss of the east i swearhe saw through a blind man’sdarkness that night like he sawthrough every horizonsaw all the way to Continue reading
About Me
I have a day.
Jake's Flea Market 