It can’t be “Summer”!
That — got through!
It’s early — yet — for “Spring”!
There’s that long town of White — to cross –
Before the Blackbirds sing!
It can’t be “Dying”!
It’s too Rouge –
The Dead shall go in White –
So Sunset shuts my question down
With Cuffs of Chrysolite!
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The Sun — just touched the Morning –
The Morning — Happy thing –
Supposed that He had come to dwell –
And Life would all be Spring!
She felt herself supremer –
A Raised — Ethereal Thing!
Henceforth — for Her — What Holiday!
Meanwhile — Her wheeling King –
Trailed — slow — along the Orchards –
His haughty — spangled Hems –
Leaving a new necessity!
The want of Diadems!
The Morning — fluttered — staggered –
Felt feebly — for Her Crown –
Her unanointed forehead –
Henceforth — Her only One!
Tags: crown, diadems, dwell, ethereal, feebly, felt, fluttered, forehead, happy, haughty, hems, henceforth, holiday, king, Life, morning, necessity, only, orchards, raised, slow, spangled, spring, staggered, sun, supremer, thing, touch, touched, trailed, unanointed, wheeling
It can’t be “Summer”!
That — got through!
It’s early — yet — for “Spring”!
There’s that long town of White — to cross –
Before the Blackbirds sing!
It can’t be “Dying”!
It’s too Rouge –
The Dead shall go in White –
So Sunset shuts my question down
With Cuffs of Chrysolite!
Tags: bird, blackbirds, chrysolite, cross, cuffs, dead, dying, early, question, rouge, sing, spring, summer, sun, sunset, town, white
I have a Bird in spring
Which for myself doth sing –
The spring decoys.
And as the summer nears –
And as the Rose appears,
Robin is gone.
Yet do I not repine
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown –
Learneth beyond the sea
Melody new for me
And will return.
Fast is a safer hand
Held in a truer Land
Are mine –
And though they now depart,
Tell I my doubting heart
They’re thine.
In a serener Bright,
In a more golden light
I see
Each little doubt and fear,
Each little discord here
Removed.
Then will I not repine,
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown
Shall in a distant tree
Bright melody for me
Return.
Tags: bird, fear, land, rose, sea, see, sing, spring, summer, tree
A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here
A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That science cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.
It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.
Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:
A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.
Tags: away, hills, march, men, Nature, noon, spring, tree, year
The springtime’s pallid landscape
Will glow like bright bouquet,
Though drifted deep in parian
The village lies to-day.
The lilacs, bending many a year,
With purple load will hang;
The bees will not forget the tune
Their old forefathers sang.
The rose will redden in the bog,
The aster on the hill
Her everlasting fashion set,
And covenant gentians frill,
Till summer folds her miracle
As women do their gown,
Or priests adjust the symbols
When sacrament is done.
Tags: bee, forget, gentian, land, men, Nature, rose, spring, summer, year
Cambridge, Massachusetts, poet and visual artist Irene Koronas has released a book, “self portrait drawn from many,” consisting of portraits (in words and pictures) of people ranging from Arthur Rimbaud to Ella Fitzgerald, Charlie Chaplin to Emily Dickinson. Subtitled “65 poems for 65 years”, the poems offer both insight into their subjects and, collectively, a portrait of a life of reading, writing, and thinking.
The Ibbetson Street Press publication is available at Lulu; a Koronas piece on Emily Dickinson also appears in the online journal Istanbul Literary Review. Interviews from the Boston Globe and Cervena Barva Press offer more insight.
Koronas is also the poetry editor of Wilderness House Literary Review, a quarterly online journal. There are so many wonderful online journals springing up–my own favorites include The Barcelona Review, failbetter, and JMWW–that it’s hard to keep up; WHL is certainly worth a look.
Tags: book, books, house, Life, pain, poem, spring, think, tree, year
Keeping Up with Emily
