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แบนเนอร์ตัวอย่าง
แบนเนอร์ตัวอย่าง


Five poems by Abigail Keegan article

 "The Work of Words"

                            for Lisa Wolfe

 

Writing with my students,

or in a room alone, I often

think of those medieval monks

copying, translating, illuminating

manuscripts at tables, hearing

the barely audible sound 

of their own beating hearts, always

at their work, while distant in their—

tonsures, long robes, confessions,

obedience—I recognize their hooded

silence and feel a kinship with

their longings to translate, to illuminate

to dwell (outside of plagues and papal

political schisms) in sacred hours where

light falls across a page of meaning.

I can imagine the feeling of being

a line drawn through the body

of god, of being placed on a page

seeing the whole of us who are

bound together, some of us

contained or trapped letters,

some of us full or lengthy words,

lines of us through history trying

 to move words toward the mystery

of transformation into texts that

invite the whole body

of us into the infinity of language.

 

 

 

 

 
"The End of Summer"

 

A year withering, grass, gold hues of dryness,

roads curl up in dust. The fires rose for days

 

from careless hands. No rain. No trees.

Just remembrance where they stood.

 

The god who walked on water looks over

the warming globe, gets down on his knees

 

saying, “I beheld the earth, and lo it was

waste and void . . . for this, shall earth mourn.”

 

Summer comes to its final day like 

the end of  a world, days shrink until defiance

 

disappears, and fears of a silent spring rise

in the wind and in the  roar of the human mind.

 

This year they say, unseasonal, but what

of the next year and the next as

 

dust swells in the stratosphere

of the higher mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


"Summer of Tomatoes"

 

Planted early April. The tag said

seventy-two days. I reread

and waited out time. By mid-July,

I worried as I watched

for even the smallest fruit.

But Big Boy waited until

almost August to break open

his garden of tomatoes,

thick wandering vines, tiny yellow

blossoms like the stars in every

direction, tomatoes, every day,

morning eggs and tomatoes,

noontime rosemary, tuna and tomatoes,

evenings another harvest.

 

Some days I stayed home

to savor their acerbic wit.

At night, when moths and butterflies

quieted down in plant thickets

and crickets rose in song to conjure

tomatoes into ripeness,

 I sat up hoping to catch them

turning red, rather like watching

for a child’s first walk.

Finally, the cold October voice

of a radio gardener said I should

pluck them green, so I stacked

the cutting board full

with green fruits for frying.

I photographed them,

the many green collected

with one red gem;

it was like the last pictures

we rush to take just as loved ones

say goodbye after a long visit,

their nurturing secured

deep in the roots of being;

then suddenly, they’ve gone,

and the end ripening

takes place in such stillness.

 

  

 

 

 
"Highway Hawk"

 

We drive miles

of western fields,

searching for

something that

catches our eye

in the wide open

hawks hook on wire

after wire above,

swaying, swerving

 yet, holding

wires battered

by vicious winds.

Wings barely lifting

eyes bearing

down on the fields

hunting even as

gusts swoop us up,

on open roads

we drive precariously

between predator and prey.

 

 

 

  

"In the Old World"

 

In the Old World faces were built to last

a life of lines and creases increased

something my grandparents called

character, lines like the Old Master

W. H. Auden, wrinkles particular

as a bloodhound. Flesh is pared

away now, just over-ripened fruit.

Grandchildren in my yard,

their perfect skin, gathering grasses, stones,

& spiders from soil beds, mementos

of a visit they’ll cling to as the future

pulls them past my fading molecules

and gravity tugs at the corners of my mouth,

my face and soon the all of me.

In time biology will leave chronology

 behind, a sundial sleeping on the lawn,

children facing the perfection

of never growing old, roaming

uncountable among the leaves of grass.

 

 

 


Abigail Keegan is a Professor of British and Women’s Literature at Oklahoma City University. She has published poetry and essays on literature and served as editor for Piecework: a Poetry Magazine for Women.  She has published three collections of poetry: The Feast of the Assumptions, Oklahoma Journey, and her latest book, Depending on the Weather, was a finalist for the 2012 Oklahoma Book Award. She is currently working on a multi-genre book of poems, interviews and photography entitled, Transport.

 

 

 




Poetry

Caps and Gowns by VICKY SMITH article
Three poems by MICHELLE HARTMAN article
THE NIGHT RUNNER by Richard Dixon article
Two poems by Ann Howells article
Two poems by Joan Colby article
Two poems by DAVID BOWLES article
Three poems by TYLER SHELDON article
Two poems by Kenneth Pobo article
Two poems by Brian Burmeister article
/emotions tough to navigate/ by CLARA B. JONES article
Two poems by Roger Still article
Two poems by Walter Bargen article
Five poems by Terry M Gresham article
Gumbo, Late by Paul Medus article
The Age of Tenderness for Walker Percy by Richard Louis Ray article
Three poems by Jennifer Lagier article
Two poems by Travis Blair article
Two poems by Clarence Wolfshohl article
Strong by Mikayla Riddles article
Four poems by Alan Gann article
Two poems by Sandra Soli article
Two poems by Walter Bargen article
Touring Mausoleums with Vincent Price by Michelle Hartman article
Four poems by Larry D. Thomas article
Arroyo Piño by Jeanetta Calhoun Mish article
SANTA FE FALL AND FOOTHILLS by Richard Dixon article
Three poems by Norbert Krapf article
Hometown, Louisiana: Men by Brent Newsom article
On Jackson Square by Ron Wallace article
Two poems by Clarence Wolfshohl article
Two poems by Ann Howells article
Five poems by Clarence Wolfshohl article
Close Kin by Hank Jones article
Witch Hazel by Norbert Krapf article
At the Center of Holy for Matthew Fox by Norbert Krapf article
Winter Elegy by Norbert Krapf article
Canyon de Chelly Reflections for David Paladin by Norbert Krapf article
Mr. Blues and Etheridge Knight by Norbert Krapf article
CINQUAIN: FIRECRACKER for Laverne Bobbitt by Kenny Fame article
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She dreamed of running by Jessica Isaacs article
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Group Portrait with Backdrop 1999 by Alan Catlin article
A Natural History of Destruction after W. G. Sebald by Alan Catlin article
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One Man’s Garbage...by Alan Berecka article
After the Roll by Alan Berecka article
Blue Dress on a Hanger by Joey Brown article
Blue Dress on a Hanger, Second Take by Joey Brown article
Making by Joey Brown article
Birds Talking Place by Joey Brown article
On the Last Hill Before Oklahoma by Joey Brown article
The Child In The Painting by Samantak Bhadra article
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I Didn’t Think it Through by Mathieu Cailler article
What Nobody Knows by Mathieu Cailler article
Gold Watch by Mathieu Cailler article
Somewhere by Mathieu Cailler article
Distance Formula by Robin Scofield article
Learning Spanish Accents in Zacatecas, Mexico by Robin Scofield article
Going Across Paso Del Norte 1992 by Robin Scofield article
Daubigny’s Garden by Robin Scofield article
Nocturne by Nettie Farris article
Toast by Sandra Soli article
Concert Tour by Sandra Soli article
Blue Jay in April by Sandra Soli article
Mosaicist by Patrick Ocampo article
Drowning by Patrick Ocampo article
Surprised By High School Football Practice In May While Listening to Bessie Smith Sing the Blues on Compact Disc by John Graves Morris article
Feeder On Clearance by Scott Kinder Pyle article
What My Wife’s Ex-Boyfriend Said To Me In The Receiving Line, And What I Hear by Scott Kinder Pyle article
Déjà Vu by Jessica Guzman article
Dinner for Two by Jessica Guzman article
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Whatever Happened to Her By Tracy Haught article
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TALKING TO MY RACIST FRIEND by Benjamin Myers article
Near the Channel Islands by Paul Bowers article
NOTES FROM THE LAST WEEKEND OF SUMMER by Jonas Zdanys article
THE WANDERING LIGHT by Jonas Zdanys article
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