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").
OUR MASTERPIECE IS THE PRIVATE LIFE
For JulesIIs there something down by the water keeping itself from us,Some shy event, some secret of the light that falls upon the deep,Some source..
© Mark Strand
No Words Can Describe It
How those fires burned that are no longer, how the weather worsened, how the shadow of the seagull vanished without a trace. Was it the end of a..
© Mark Strand
The Mysterious Arrival of an Unusual Letter
It had been a long day at the office and a long ride back to the small apartment where I lived. When I got there I flicked on the light and saw on..
© Mark Strand
The Minister of Culture Gets His Wish
The Minister of Culture goes home after a grueling day at the office. He lies on his bed and tries to think of nothing, but nothing hap-pens or, more..
© Mark Strand
The View
For Derek WalcottThis is the place. The chairs are white. The table shines.The person sitting there stares at the waxen glow.The wind moves the air..
© Mark Strand
When the Vacation is Over for Good
It will be strangeKnowing at last it couldn't go on forever,The certain voice telling us over and overThat nothing would change,And remembering..
© Mark Strand
I Had Been A Polar Explorer
I had been a polar explorer in my youthand spent countless days and nights freezingin one blank place and then another. Eventually,I quit my travels..
© Mark Strand
Futility in Key West
I was stretched out on the couch, about to doze off, when I imagined a small figure asleep on a couch identical to mine. "Wake up, little man, wake..
© Mark Strand
Xvi
It is true, as someone has said, that inA world without heaven all is farewell.Whether you wave your hand or not,It is farewell, and if no tears come..
© Mark Strand
The Prediction
That night the moon drifted over the pond,turning the water to milk, and underthe boughs of the trees, the blue trees,a young woman walked, and for..
© Mark Strand
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