Wednesday, 25 September 2013

Anthology 11

Here is one by Kay Ryan. As ever with her poems, there is really nothing to add. Except perhaps to point to her exquisite craftsmanship, her subtle use of half-rhyme, assonance, enjambment, feminine line-endings... But that is hardly the point. This is a poem simple and true.


As some people age
they kinden.
The apertures
of their eyes widen.
I do not think they weaken;
I think something weak strengthens
until they are more and more it,
like letting in heaven.
But other people are
mussels or clams, frightened.
Steam or knife blades mean open.
They hear heaven, they think boiled or broken.

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