Six Significant Landscapes

--by Wallace Stevens

I
An old man sits
In the shadow of a pine tree
In China.
He sees larkspur,
Blue and white,
At the edge of the shadow,
Move in the wind.
His beard moves in the wind.
The pine tree moves in the wind.
Thus water flows
Over weeds.

II
The night is of the colour
Of a woman's arm:
Night, the female,
Obscure,
Fragrant and supple,
Conceals herself.
A pool shines,
Like a bracelet
Shaken in a dance.

III
I measure myself
Against a tall tree.
I find that I am much taller,
For I reach right up to the sun,
With my eye;
And I reach to the shore of the sea
With my ear.
Nevertheless, I dislike
The way ants crawl
In and out of my shadow.

IV
When my dream was near the moon,
The white folds of its gown
Filled with yellow light.
The soles of its feet
Grew red.
Its hair filled
With certain blue crystallizations
From stars,
Not far off.

V
Not all the knives of the lamp-posts,
Nor the chisels of the long streets,
Nor the mallets of the domes
And high towers,
Can carve
What one star can carve,
Shining through the grape-leaves.

VI
Rationalists, wearing square hats,
Think, in square rooms,
Looking at the floor,
Looking at the ceiling.
They confine themselves
To right-angled triangles.
If they tried rhomboids,
Cones, waving lines, ellipses --
As, for example, the ellipse of the half-moon --
Rationalists would wear sombreros.

(1923)

The Lost Pilot

-- by James Tate

for my father, 1922-1944

Your face did not rot
like the others--the co-pilot,
for example, I saw him

yesterday. His face is corn-
mush: his wife and daughter,
the poor ignorant people, stare

as if he will compose soon.
He was more wronged than Job.
But your face did not rot

like the others--it grew dark,
and hard like ebony;
the features progressed in their

distinction. If I could cajole
you to come back for an evening,
down from your compulsive

orbiting, I would touch you,
read your face as Dallas,
your hoodlum gunner, now,

with the blistered eyes, reads
his braille editions. I would
touch your face as a disinterested

scholar touches an original page.
However frightening, I would
discover you, and I would not

turn you in; I would not make
you face your wife, or Dallas,
or the co-pilot, Jim. You

could return to your crazy
orbiting, and I would not try
to fully understand what

it means to you. All I know
is this: when I see you,
as I have seen you at least

once every year of my life,
spin across the wilds of the sky
like a tiny, African god,

I feel dead. I feel as if I were
the residue of a stranger's life,
that I should pursue you.

My head cocked toward the sky,
I cannot get off the ground,
and, you, passing over again,

fast, perfect, and unwilling
to tell me that you are doing
well, or that it was mistake

that placed you in that world,
and me in this; or that misfortune
placed these worlds in us.

Kinski and Fruit Bats Review

Sub Pop has a long history of great releases — including Nirvana’s Bleach and the The Shins’ Oh, Inverted World — and they’re still putting out great albums by newer bands.

Alpine Static and Spelled in Bones are both new releases on Sub Pop and they prove that the label is making good decisions with the artists they pick up.

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crunk, n.

[f. prec.: cf. Icel. krúnk the raven's cry.]
A hoarse harsh cry; a croak.

1868 ATKINSON Cleveland Gloss., Crunk, the hoarse cry or croak of the raven or carrion crow.

-- The Oxford English Dictionary

crunk, v.

Also 6-7 crunck(e. [Cf. Icel. krúnka to croak (as a raven).]
intr. Of some birds: To utter a hoarse harsh cry.

1565-73 COOPER Thesaurus, Gruo..to crunke like a crane. 1583 STANYHURST Æneis IV. (Arb.) 111 The skrich howle..Her burial roundel dooth ruck, and cruncketh in howling. 1617 MINSHEU Ductor, To Cruncke or Crunckle like a Crane.

--The Oxford English Dictionary

EXPIRATION DATE

Face broken out
of time by loss

arms like fabric softener on the pink
and black striped tight shirt

hugging-
w/o squeeze
too tight
from front for free feel

Fitting pants reveal everything
I ever wanted

mine lack revelation.