[nyctom]

Sally:

If I remember correctly, Brogan was teaching and Moore was the student. Moore had never participated as a "student" in a workshop, and peppered Brogan with very complicated questions about prosody. Apparently she was very impressed with Brogan as a teacher and told Bishop she learned a great deal. In any case, it is a charming story, don't you think?

[Sally Thomas]

It is, and you're absolutely right -- I had it backwards. I knew someone was unnerved!

Sally

[robert mezey]

Yes, absolutely right--but it's Bogan, not Brogan.

[nyctom]

That's true. I used to know a Brogan. Whoops.

[Jennifer Reeser]

Interesting thread, Tim, thanks for initiating it. I admire Bogan briefly, in the way I would admire a finely carved ice sculpture. Then I turn back to the poets who (for me) manage the difficult feat of crossing over from admiration into love, Millay and Christina Rossetti, who have deep passion and real-world wisdom, in addition to technical prowess and poignancy.

Jennifer

[Sally Thomas]

Here's another, to make up for my poor memory for details:

Knowledge

Now that I know
How passion warms little
Of flesh in the mould,
And treasure is brittle, --

I'll lie here and learn
How, over their ground,
Trees make a long shadow
And a light sound.

Oh, and one more:

The Alchemist

I burned my life, that I might find
A passion wholly of the mind,
Thought divorced from eye and bone,
Ecstasy come to breath alone.
I broke my life, to seek relief
From the flawed light of love and grief.

With mounting beat the utter fire
Charred existence and desire.
It died low, ceased its sudden thresh.
I had found unmysterious flesh --
Not the mind's avid substance -- still
Passionate beyond the will.


Sally