After our long excursion into dimeter and trimeter over at Lariat, I found myself reading Bogan again this afternoon. Alan was certain he'd put up a Bogan thread here when he ran Mastery, but I can't find it. Born in '98 and died in '70, she was an immaculate poet, good at any line length, and particularly good in short lines. I think she's probably my favorite woman poet of the last century.
To Be Sung On The Water
Beautiful, my delight,
Pass, as we pass the wave.
Pass, as the mottled night
Leaves what it cannot save,
Scattering dark and bright.
Beautiful, pass and be
Less than the guiltless shade
To which our vows were said;
Less than the sound of the oar
To which our vows were made,--
Less than the sound of its blade
Dipping the stream once more.
To An Artist, To Take Heart
Slipping in blood, by his own hand, through pride
Hamlet, Othello, Coriolanus fall.
Upon his bed, however, Shakespeare died,
Having endured them all.
The Daemon
Must I tell again
In the words I know
For the ears of men
The flesh, the blow?
Must I show outright
The bruise in the side,
The halt in the night
And how death cried?
Must I speak to the lot
Who little bore?
It said "Why not?"
It said "Once more."
The Young Mage
The young mage said:
Make free, make free,
With the wild eagles planing in the mountains,
And the serpent in the sea.
The young mage said:
Delight, delight,
In the vine's triumph over the marble
And the wind at night.
And he said: Hold
Fast to the leaves' silver
And the flower's gold.
And he said: Beware
Of the round web swinging from the angle
Of the steep stair,
And of the comet's hair.
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