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Wednesday, September 25, 2013

365 Poems: Dissected

Day 268

Ray Carver
The last couple videos I watched for ModPo class tore the day's poems apart, word-by-word, and -- as fun as it is to study poetry -- it's hard to listen to the conversation and not add, question, argue, or even agree. Plus I felt like the video group not only tore the poems apart, then threw the words around like so much confetti, and neglected to pick all those pretty pieces up again.

But such is the way of close poetry reading.

To fix myself up I read some Ray last night and felt much better. Cleared the cobwebs out, somehow.

The Cobweb

A few minutes ago, I stepped onto the deck
of the house. From there I could see and hear the water,
and everything that's happened to me all these years.
It was hot and still. The tide was out.
No birds sang. As I leaned against the railing
a cobweb touched my forehead.
It caught in my hair. No one can blame me that I turned
and went inside. There was no wind. The sea
was dead calm. I hung the cobweb from the lampshade.
Where I watch it shudder now and then when my breath
touches it. A fine thread. Intricate.
Before long, before anyone realizes,
I'll be gone from here. 
    ----  (Raymond Carver)

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