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Ex cranium, night
Born in Berlin in 1903, Rakosi has become a much praised and published American poet, with awards from the National Endowment for the Arts.
- GenresPoetry
150 pages, Paperback
First published October 10, 1975
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
January 27, 2022
There's the greenwood fern
and the open woods
and the smell of hay
and the eye of a frog
and a fern signature
left in a coal
and there is fern by analogy,
a most ancient weed.
* * *
In the dead of night
the caribou slept.
The possibility of not knowing
what you are
had not yet been conceived.
It is the original forest.
There is peace.
The wolf has eaten.
He goes into a long howl
to give his location.
If the hunter does not find him,
he'll live seven years.
A box is a box.
Integrity has been defined.
* * *
The auditors have sent me notice.
There is not enough left in my account
to piss with
but what there is
will cure vanity
and end metathesis
and make a cabbage of me:
all my value will be under ground.
If I could not look at it
I would not.
In short, it is all that matters.
The agenbite of iron.
The rest can be learned.
* * *
That gives the orbit.
The eyelids hang low
(low clearance):
dark and sad.
That's for utterance.
An undertaker left
his bags here.
All here.
* * *
There ain't nothin special about me.
Everybody knows I'm too fat
and my legs are too short.
I'm just a middle-aged cornball
with a loud voice
and a drinking problem.
It's a funny thing,
when I'm on stage
all I do is act like me.
But I can act me
like a song of a bitch!
* * *
Because of envy
I am ashamed.
The malignant god has entered
my blood stream.
My limbs are twisted.
An iron rod
is hammed into my gut:
"This man's work is great."
I can think of nothing else.
There is no hope for me.
Because of fear.
O, I am sick!
My mouth is dry.
I possess nothing.
One look from the covetous god
has finished me.
Mercy, great god.
I have been shamed enough.
I will acknowledge you.
Let me get to my own work
with the necessary innocence.
and the open woods
and the smell of hay
and the eye of a frog
and a fern signature
left in a coal
and there is fern by analogy,
a most ancient weed.
- Aie!, pg. 20
* * *
In the dead of night
the caribou slept.
The possibility of not knowing
what you are
had not yet been conceived.
It is the original forest.
There is peace.
The wolf has eaten.
He goes into a long howl
to give his location.
If the hunter does not find him,
he'll live seven years.
A box is a box.
Integrity has been defined.
- Riddle, pg. 22
* * *
The auditors have sent me notice.
There is not enough left in my account
to piss with
but what there is
will cure vanity
and end metathesis
and make a cabbage of me:
all my value will be under ground.
If I could not look at it
I would not.
In short, it is all that matters.
The agenbite of iron.
The rest can be learned.
- Ho Goes It with Time, for H.S. Ephron, pg. 52
* * *
That gives the orbit.
The eyelids hang low
(low clearance):
dark and sad.
That's for utterance.
An undertaker left
his bags here.
All here.
- An Ageless Face, pg. 56
* * *
There ain't nothin special about me.
Everybody knows I'm too fat
and my legs are too short.
I'm just a middle-aged cornball
with a loud voice
and a drinking problem.
It's a funny thing,
when I'm on stage
all I do is act like me.
But I can act me
like a song of a bitch!
- The Country Singer, pg. 79
* * *
Because of envy
I am ashamed.
The malignant god has entered
my blood stream.
My limbs are twisted.
An iron rod
is hammed into my gut:
"This man's work is great."
I can think of nothing else.
There is no hope for me.
Because of fear.
O, I am sick!
My mouth is dry.
I possess nothing.
One look from the covetous god
has finished me.
Mercy, great god.
I have been shamed enough.
I will acknowledge you.
Let me get to my own work
with the necessary innocence.
- The Poet, XX, pg. 166
January 13, 2017
3 1/2 stars
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews