Heather McHugh Poems (8 Poems)
Ghoti (Heather McHugh Poems)
The gh comes from rough, the o from women’s, and the ti from unmentionables–presto: there’s the perfect English instance of unlovablility–complete with fish. Our wish was for a better revelation: for a correspondence– if not lexical, at least phonetic; if … Continue reading
With Due Respect To Thor (Heather McHugh Poems)
The dog has shrunk between the brake and clutch. His shaking shakes a two-ton truck. From a God so furious, he cannot hide his hide. Outside, in the world at large, black hours are being pearled and shafted. A tree … Continue reading
What He Thought (Heather McHugh Poems)
We were supposed to do a job in Italy and, full of our feeling for ourselves (our sense of being Poets from America) we went from Rome to Fano, met the Mayor, mulled a couple matters over. The Italian literati … Continue reading
Stroke (Heather McHugh Poems)
The literate are ill-prepared for this snap in the line of life: the day turns a trick of twisted tongues and is untiable, the month by no mere root moon-ridden, and the yearly eloquences yielding more than summer’s part of … Continue reading
Etymological Dirge (Heather McHugh Poems)
‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear. Calm comes from burning. Tall comes from fast. Comely doesn’t come from come. Person comes from mask. The kin of charity is whore, the root of charity is dear. Incentive has its … Continue reading
The Father of the Predicaments (Heather McHugh Poems)
He came at night to each of us asleep And trained us in the virtues we most lacked. Me he admonished to return his stare Correctly, without fear.Unless I could, Unblinking, more and more incline Toward a deep unblinkingness of … Continue reading
Nano-Knowledge (Heather McHugh Poems)
There, a little right of Ursus Major, is the Milky Way: a man can point it out, the biggest billionfold of all predicaments he’s in: his planet’s street address. What gives? What looks a stripe a hundred million miles away … Continue reading
Ghazal of the Better-Unbegun (Heather McHugh Poems)
Too volatile, am I?too voluble?too much a word-person? I blame the soup:I’m a primordially stirred person. Two pronouns and a vehicle was Icarus with wings. The apparatus of his selves made an ab- surd person. The sound I make is … Continue reading
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