9.1 poems.docx

A.R. Aamons Poetics I look for the waythings will turnout spiraling from a center,the shapethings will take to come forth inso that the birch tree whitetouched black at brancheswill stand outwind-glitteringtotally its apparent self:I look for the formsthings want to come asfrom what black wells of possibility,how a thing willunfold:not the shape on paper -- thoughthat, too -- but theuninterfering means on paper:not so much looking for the shapeas being availableto any shape that may besummoning itselfthrough mefrom the self not mine but ours. Beware: Do Not Read This Poemby Ishmael Reed tonite, thriller wasabt an ol woman, so vain shesurrounded herself w/ many mirrors it got so bad that finally shelocked herself indoors & herwhole life became the mirrors one day the villagers brokeinto her house , but she was tooswift for them . she disappeared into a mirror each tenant who bought the houseafter that, lost a loved one to the ol woman in the mirror: first a little girl then a young woman then the young woman's husband the hunger of this poem is legendaryit has taken in many victimsback off from this poemit has drawn in yr feetback off from this poemit has drawn in yr legs back off from thas poemit is a greedy mirroryou are into this poem. from the waist downnobody can hear you can they?this poem has had you up to here belchthis poem aint got no mannersyou cant call out from this poemrelax now & go with this poem move & roll on to this poemdo not resist this poemthis poem has yr eyesthis poem has his headthis poem has his armsthis poem has his fingersthis poem has his fingertips this poem is the reader & thereader the poem statistic: the US bureau of missing persons re-   ports that in 1968 over 100,000 people   disappeared leaving no solid clues   nor trace     onlya space     in the lives of their friends Wallace Stevens Of Modern Poetry The poem of the mind in the act of finding What will suffice. It has not always had To find: the scene was set; it repeated what Was in the script. Then the theatre was changed To something else. Its past was a souvenir. It has to be living, to learn the speech of the place. It has to face the men of the time and to meet The women of the time. It has to think about war And it has to find what will suffice. It has To construct a new stage. It has to be on that stage, And, like an insatiable actor, slowly and With meditation, speak words that in the ear, In the delicatest ear of the mind, repeat, Exactly, that which it wants to hear, at the sound Of which, an invisible audience listens, Not to the play, but to itself, expressed In an emotion as of two people, as of two Emotions becoming one. The actor is A metaphysician in the dark, twanging An instrument, twanging a wiry string that gives Sounds passing through sudden rightnesses, wholly Containing the mind, below which it cannot descend, Beyond which it has no will to rise. It must Be the finding of a satisfaction, and may Be of a man skating, a woman dancing, a woman Combing. The poem of the act of the mind.