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greatpoetryTiara
by Mark Doty
Peter died in a paper tiara
cut from a book of princess paper dolls;
he loved royalty, sashes
and jewels. I don't know,
he said, when he woke in the hospice,
I was watching the Bette Davis film festival
on Channel 57 and then—
At the wake, the tension broke
when someone guessed
the casket closed because
he was in there in a big wig
and heels, and someone said,
You know he's always late,
he probably isn't here yet—
he's still fixing his makeup.
And someone said he asked for it.
Asked for it—
when all he did was go down
into the salt tide
of wanting as much as he wanted,
giving himself over so drunk
or stoned it almost didn't matter who,
though they were beautiful,
stampeding into him in the simple,
ravishing music of their hurry.
I think heaven is perfect stasis
poised over the realms of desire,
where dreaming and waking men lie
on the grass while wet horses
roam among them, huge fragments
of the music we die into
in the body's paradise.
Sometimes we wake not knowing
how we came to lie here,
or who has crowned us with these temporary,
precious stones. And given
the world's perfectly turned shoulders,
the deep hollows blued by longing,
given the irreplaceable silk
of horses rippling in orchards,
fruit thundering and chiming down,
given the ordinary marvels of form
and gravity, what could he do,
what could any of us ever do
but ask for it.
i love that poem.
i was hoping someone in this community might be able to help me in my quest to find a poem... the only things i know about it are that it is i guess a love poem, and talks about wanting to make someone pancakes everyday. it was published in some poetry anthology of american poets. i know there isn't alot to go on, but if anyone remembers the poem please tell me who its by/what its called. thanks.
by Mark Doty
Peter died in a paper tiara
cut from a book of princess paper dolls;
he loved royalty, sashes
and jewels. I don't know,
he said, when he woke in the hospice,
I was watching the Bette Davis film festival
on Channel 57 and then—
At the wake, the tension broke
when someone guessed
the casket closed because
he was in there in a big wig
and heels, and someone said,
You know he's always late,
he probably isn't here yet—
he's still fixing his makeup.
And someone said he asked for it.
Asked for it—
when all he did was go down
into the salt tide
of wanting as much as he wanted,
giving himself over so drunk
or stoned it almost didn't matter who,
though they were beautiful,
stampeding into him in the simple,
ravishing music of their hurry.
I think heaven is perfect stasis
poised over the realms of desire,
where dreaming and waking men lie
on the grass while wet horses
roam among them, huge fragments
of the music we die into
in the body's paradise.
Sometimes we wake not knowing
how we came to lie here,
or who has crowned us with these temporary,
precious stones. And given
the world's perfectly turned shoulders,
the deep hollows blued by longing,
given the irreplaceable silk
of horses rippling in orchards,
fruit thundering and chiming down,
given the ordinary marvels of form
and gravity, what could he do,
what could any of us ever do
but ask for it.
i love that poem.
i was hoping someone in this community might be able to help me in my quest to find a poem... the only things i know about it are that it is i guess a love poem, and talks about wanting to make someone pancakes everyday. it was published in some poetry anthology of american poets. i know there isn't alot to go on, but if anyone remembers the poem please tell me who its by/what its called. thanks.
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venturing a guess...
Date: 2004-08-10 03:03 pm (UTC)I will make you pancakes
And bring you coffee
And place a rose on your table
If you'll only stay the night
If you spend a week with me
We'll wine and dine and dance
And presents every day I'll bring you
And I'll tell you stories that make you laugh
I'll plant a flower garden just for you
With a center fountain in your honor
And daily birds will come and sing to you
If a year with me you'll spare
If with me for life you'll pledge
I'll make our journey an adventure
So our hearts will fly as high as clouds on a summer day
And we'll know joy others have only dreamed
But for now _ will you just stay the night
If you do I'll wake you gently
Then softly kiss the sleep from your eyes
And you will begin your morning with love
And I'll make you pancakes
William G. Carrington
no subject
Date: 2004-08-12 02:35 am (UTC)Thank you for posting that. Which book is it from?
gotta love mark
Date: 2004-08-12 02:34 pm (UTC)he is really just great. whats your favorite of his books? i reaaally love sweet machine.
Re: gotta love mark
Date: 2004-08-12 06:18 pm (UTC)sweet machine, eh? hmmm... i might have to dig it back out just cuz you said that. :)
a documentary??
Re:
Date: 2004-08-12 06:24 pm (UTC)do you write yourself?
Re:
Date: 2004-08-13 04:49 am (UTC)do you?
Re:
Date: 2004-08-13 05:43 am (UTC)he can't be imitated i'm afraid. im too narrative
Re:
Date: 2004-08-13 07:13 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-08-13 07:44 pm (UTC)three of my poems are posted on ariascorner. i'll find that damn link for ya.
Re:
Date: 2004-08-15 06:05 pm (UTC)i'm out of town right now, but i'll be checking when i can. i'll be back on thrusday.
hopefully then i can send stuff your way also.