Section: «Poems»
Verse (ancient Greek ὁ στίχος — row, structure), a term in versification used in several meanings:
artistic speech organized by division into rhythmically commensurate segments; poetry in the narrow sense; in particular, it implies the properties of versification of a particular tradition ("antique verse", "Akhmatova's verse", etc.);
a line of poetic text organized according to a certain rhythmic pattern ("My uncle of the most honest rules").
Orpheus Alone
It was an adventure much could be made of: a walkOn the shores of the darkest known river,Among the hooded, shoving crowds, by steaming rocksAnd rows..
© Mark Strand
The Couple
The scene is a midtown station.The time is 3 a.m.Jane is alone on the platform,Humming a requiem.She leans against the tiles.She rummages in her..
© Mark Strand
The Old Age of Nostalgia
Those hours given over to basking in the glow of an imaginedfuture, of being carried away in streams of promise by a love ora passion so strong that..
© Mark Strand
Mirror
A white room and a party going onand I was standing with some friendsunder a large gilt-framed mirrorthat tilted slightly forwardover the..
© Mark Strand
The End
Not every man knows what he shall sing at the end,Watching the pier as the ship sails away, or what it will seem likeWhen he's held by the sea's..
© Mark Strand
So You Say
It is all in the mind, you say, and hasnothing to do with happiness. The coming of cold,the coming of heat, the mind has all the time in the..
© Mark Strand
The New Poetry Handbook
1 If a man understands a poem,he shall have troubles.2 If a man lives with a poem,he shall die lonely.3 If a man lives with two poems,he shall be..
© Mark Strand
Man And Camel
On the eve of my fortieth birthdayI sat on the porch having a smokewhen out of the blue a man and a camelhappened by. Neither uttered a soundat..
© Mark Strand
For Jessica, My Daughter
Tonight I walked,lost in my own meditation,and was afraid,not of the labyrinththat I have made of love and selfbut of the dark and faraway.I walked..
© Mark Strand
The Idea
For us, too, there was a wish to possessSomething beyond the world we knew, beyond ourselves,Beyond our power to imagine, something neverthelessIn..
© Mark Strand
The Midnight Club
The gifted have told us for years that they want to be lovedFor what they are, that they, in whatever fullness is theirs,Are perishable in twilight..
© Mark Strand
In Celebration
You sit in a chair, touched by nothing, feelingthe old self become the older self, imaginingonly the patience of water, the boredom of stone.You..
© Mark Strand
Coming To This
We have done what we wanted.We have discarded dreams, preferring the heavy industryof each other, and we have welcomed griefand called ruin the..
© Mark Strand
My Mother On An Evening In Late Summer
When the moon appearsand a few wind-stricken barns stand outin the low-domed hillsand shine with a lightthat is veiled and dust-filledand that floats..
© Mark Strand
My Life
The huge doll of my bodyrefuses to rise.I am the toy of women.My motherwould prop me up for her friends."Talk, talk," she would beg.I moved my..
© Mark Strand
The Continuous Life
What of the neighborhood homes awashIn a silver light, of children hunched in the bushes,Watching the grown-ups for signs of surrender,Signs that the..
© Mark Strand
The Coming Of Light
Even this late it happens:the coming of love, the coming of light.You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,stars gather, dreams pour into..
© Mark Strand
From The Long Sad Party
Someone was sayingsomething about shadows covering the field, abouthow things pass, how one sleeps towards morningand the morning goes.Someone was..
© Mark Strand
The Dreadful Has Already Happened
The relatives are leaning over, staring expectantly.They moisten their lips with their tongues. I can feelthem urging me on. I hold the baby in the..
© Mark Strand
Breath
When you see themtell them I am still here,that I stand on one leg while the other one dreams,that this is the only way,that the lies I tell them are..
© Mark Strand
Eating Poetry
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.There is no happiness like mine.I have been eating poetry.The librarian does not believe what she sees.Her eyes..
© Mark Strand
A Piece Of The Storm
From the shadow of domes in the city of domes,A snowflake, a blizzard of one, weightless, entered your roomAnd made its way to the arm of the chair..
© Mark Strand
A Piece Of The Storm
From the shadow of domes in the city of domes,A snowflake, a blizzard of one, weightless, entered your roomAnd made its way to the arm of the chair..
© Mark Strand
Lines For Winter
Tell yourselfas it gets cold and gray falls from the airthat you will go onwalking, hearingthe same tune no matter whereyou find yourself—inside the..
© Mark Strand
The Everyday Enchantment Of Music
A rough sound was polished until it becamea smoother sound, which was polished untilit became music.Then the music was polished untilit became the..
© Mark Strand