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DAYS

AFTER THESE QUIET STARS EACH FREE INTELLIGENCE SEALED FROM US DAYS AND HOURS ARE BLINDS THESE SCREENS THESE MEANS EACH

“These quiet stars each free
intelligence sealed from us
Days and hours are blinds
These screens these means
each new extreme outvies
each quickening after after”

Howe, Susan. “Periscope.” Debths. New York, NY: New Directions, 2017. p. 125.

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New Directions Books

WINTER IN THE RUSH THE FIRE BURNS THE TRANSLUCENT DAYS OF THE PAST IN THE RUSH THE TREE-LINED BOULEVARD TEMPERS THE TRANSLUCENT

“II
My feet and hands collide together In the rushing coach
Stumps uphold the body of winter
In the rush, the fire burns the translucent days of the past
In the rush, the tree-lined boulevard tempers the translucent
days of the past”

Yip, Wai-Lim. “Fugue.” Between Landscapes. Santa Fe: Pennywhistle Press, 1994. p. 8.

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HAD FADED LIKE WORDS FADE IN STONE BECAUSE OF THE RAIN AND THE DAYS WAKING AND THE DREAM IS LEAVING WITH EVERY STEP

“ …That
was the fear
two signs
fading but recalling
they had faded like words
fade in stone because
of the rain and the days
and waking and the dream
is leaving with every
step leaning over the meat
because I do not want
you to have died in vain
kissing the turkey and
the neck of my dog
all animals am I.”

Myles, Eileen. "Dream." Poetry 203, no. 3 (2013): 228-29.

JSTOR

LUMINOUS TWILIGHT FALLS A HANDFUL OF SNOWFLAKES THE DAYS ARE LONG AGAIN THE SKIES ARE BLUE THE HEDGES ARE GREEN AGAIN THE

The street lights
begin to shine
on the snow;
the river is
flowing in cakes of ice;
from the luminous twilight
falls
a handful of snowflakes.

The days are long again, the skies are blue;
the hedges are green again, the trees are green;
only the twigs of the elms are dark.
At night the wind is cold again;
but by day the snow of your absence is melting:
soon May will be here and you the queen of the May.

Reznikoff, Charles, edited by Seamus Cooney. “Jerusalem the Golden.” The Poems of Charles Reznikoff: 1918-1975. Boston: David R. Godine, 2005. p. 104.

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WorldCat

OF GEESE AND HAWKS METAPHORS OF PATH AND TRAIL ARE FROM THE DAYS WHEN JOURNEYS WERE ON FOOT OR BY HORSE WITH PACKSTOCK

“Networks cut across communities with their own kind of territoriality, analogous to the long migrations of geese and hawks.
Metaphors of path and trail are from the days when journeys were on foot or by horse with packstock, when our whole human world was a network of paths.”

Snyder, Gary. The Practice of the Wild. San Francisco: North Point Press, 1990. p. 144.

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BeWild ReWild

IN FACT YOU DON'T LIVE A LIFE ONE DAY AT A TIME SOME DAYS YOU SKIP COME BACK TO THEM LATER OTHERS NEVER OCCUR THESE OCCASIONS

"One word is next
to another, an excess
Of localism, solidarity, and
Vive la difference shouted
Down crowded column inches.
Each voice singled out
By ages of technique.

In fact you don’t
Live a life one
Day at a time.
Some days you skip,
Come back to them
Later, others never occur.
These occasions are not
Even up from grabs,
Cause no comment."

Perelman, Bob. “Days.” Primer. Oakland, CA: This Press, 1981. p. 17.

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Internet Archive

EXHALING FROM A THOUSAND FOUNTAINS IN THESE BALMY DISSOLVING DAYS WHEN THE DEEP HEARTBEATS OF NATURE ARE FELT THRILLING

“How perfectly enchanting and care-obliterating are these withdrawn gardens of the woods — long vistas opening to the sea — sunshine sifting and pouring upon the flowery ground in a tremulous, shifting mosaic, as the light-ways in the leafy wall open and close with the swaying breeze— shining leaves and flowers, birds and bees, mingling together in springtime harmony, and soothing fragrance exhaling from a thousand thousand fountains! In these balmy, dissolving days, when the deep heart-beats of Nature are felt thrilling rocks and trees and everything alike, common business and friends are happily forgotten, and even the natural honey work of bees, and the care of birds for their young, and mothers for their children, seem slightly out of place.”

Muir, John. The Writings of John Muir: Sierra Edition. Vol. II. The Mountains of California. Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1917. pp. 92-3.

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Internet Archive

TO POEM AND PERSON I TURN MY TELEPHONE OFF THESE DAYS TO HELP ORDINARY LIGHT BREED POEMS THE SUN IS SO BRIGHT ON MY DESK

“A telephone bell can deflect & dissipate my light
The deflected light is lost to poem & person
I turn my telephone off these days to help ordinary light breed poems

The sun is so bright on my desk now except on the typewriter keys
that there’s no need for the light of the student lamp placed to
shine on the paper”

Low, Jackson Mac. “58th Light Poem: For Anne Tardos—19 March 1979.” 22 Light Poems. Los Angeles: Black Sparrow Press, 1968.

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