The sky eats up the trees
Readers of this blog also know that I love (my boy) James Schuyler. He was a master of the Write Right Now. Thus, his National Book Award winner, The Morning of the Poem which is one continuous dream of a morning, of a poem, of life observed. The Award was well-deserved. His work continues to influence writers of today. Today. The world seems scary. There isn’t a lot of solace. So I turn to poetry. Now is the time to immerse ourselves in poetry. To turn away from the world and all it’s turmoil and trauma. I’m not exactly going to put my head in a hole, but rather I want to describe to you another world. One without a ranting and raving orange-haired man. Thank you. The sky eats up the trees The newspaper comes. It has a bellyful of bad news. The sun is not where it was. Nor is the moon. Once so flat, now so round. A man carries papers out of the house. Which makes a small change. I read at night. I take the train and go to the city. Then I come back....