A Toast
To your voice, a mysterious virtue,
to the 53 bones of one foot, the four
dimensions of breathing,
to pine, redwood, sworn-fern, peppermint,
to hyacinth and bluebell lily,
to the train conductor’s donkey on a
rope,
to smells of lemons, a boy pissing
splendidly against the
trees.
Bless each thing on earth until it
sickens,
until each ungovernable heart admits:
“I confused myself
and yet I loved–and what I loved
I forgot, what I forgot brought glory
to my travels,
to you I traveled as close as I dared,
Lord.”
Ilya Kaminsky
About This Poem:
"This piece is from the unfinished manuscript Deaf Republic. This story of a pregnant woman and her husband living during an epidemic of deafness and civil unrest was found beneath the floorboards in a house in Eastern Europe. Several versions of the manuscript exist." -- Ilya Kaminsky
Ilya Kaminsky
About This Poem:
"This piece is from the unfinished manuscript Deaf Republic. This story of a pregnant woman and her husband living during an epidemic of deafness and civil unrest was found beneath the floorboards in a house in Eastern Europe. Several versions of the manuscript exist." -- Ilya Kaminsky
No comments:
Post a Comment