Thursday, July 31, 2014

Mountains as they rise

  Friends said, No, skip the Carven show.
  It's all about the street. What use is
  that to you?

  I remembered then, seeking Petrarca as
  a youngster, chasing rumors of torment
  to be ready for with words, and leaping
  headlong into his lap, exhausted, OK,
  slow down. He never does. I find I owe
  him, certain peaks:

  Perhaps I could become a stone somehow ..

  adamant, perhaps, or marble - white
  with fear - or else rock crystal that men
  At any rate, the weight I can barely stand

  to carry of my burden of desire
  would lift: I envy Atlas with his light
  load of the sky in Morocco's burning sand.

Sonnets and Shorter Poems
  rima sparse, 51
  ca 1350
David R. Slavitt
Harvard University Press, 2012©

Bram Valbracht
  Carven, 2014

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