Jump to content
Poetry Magnum Opus

Search the Community

Showing results for tags 'Elegy'.

  • Search By Tags

    Type tags separated by commas.
  • Search By Author

Content Type


  • Tinker's Blog
  • PMO Members' Promotional Blog
  • General Discussion Blog


  • Members' Poetry
    • Showcase
    • Showcase (overflow)
    • Workshop
    • Playground
    • Longer Works
    • Promotions
    • Archive
  • Reference Section
    • Tools
    • Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry
    • Misc. Reference Material
  • Special Interest
    • World Poetry
    • PMO Audio
  • Prose
    • The Prose Forum
  • Reading
    • A Poem I Read Today
    • Favorite Poets
  • General
    • General Discussion
    • Literary Discussion
    • Articles
  • Art
    • Art - General Discussion
    • Photography, Drawing, and Painting
  • Welcome
    • Site Welcome, Philosophy, and Rules
  • PMO Community Matters ***MEMBERS ONLY***'s Feature Requests
  • PMO Community Matters ***MEMBERS ONLY***'s Special Requests
  • PMO Community Matters ***MEMBERS ONLY***'s How-to
  • PMO Community Matters ***MEMBERS ONLY***'s Visions for the Site
  • Mostly-Free Exchange of Ideas Club's Topics

Find results in...

Find results that contain...

Date Created

  • Start


Last Updated

  • Start


Filter by number of...

Found 1 result

  1. I am posting this now due to the news that his remains are to be exhumed and examined to determine his cause of death; the dictator Pinochet MIGHT have had this poet silenced. (Meridian Hill is a large park in DC.) http://www.euronews.com/2013/04/08/nobel-laureate-naruda-s-remains-to-be-exhumed-in-chile/ I am shocked to learn that you are a Communist: this matters in 1992. El poeta: el, masculine; poeta, feminine; that's something. I bring you to Meridian Hill, near the statue of Jeanne d'Arc, though she might have been too young, even for you. You are a bi-lingual edition, naturally. Mis novios de mis noches did not, cumulatively, teach me very much, it seems. How sad. Only one of the fountains works. Its spray keeps cleanly to itself. There is no wind; the face of the water sleeps. Bright but not oppressive: the weather, and not the Salvadoran hiding in the shade. He is more shadow than he is flesh. Before sitting, I take the view at the rail: the cascade is trim and clean; nothing but foam down the thirteen steps. I sit facing the butt of Jeanne's horse. I see the sword in her hand and I ask, "How Christian is that?" I am in profile to the shady one. He spreads his legs and cups himself, looking through dark bangs and dark eyes. I nod. He stirs at my suggestion, almond eyes and high cheeks. He sees you in my hands and he passes by. Twenty years later I don't now give a fig that you were a Communist, just that you blew my chance for poetry. October 2012
  • Create New...

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Guidelines.