Heath Hen Meadow, Acton. Feburary, 2001.
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E.D. In Coma
In her mind, in bare feet
she is walking among
April’s first
cold
pubic violets, still
here, heaven haunted
her eyes
and lips
closed:
Soon
so soon I’ll be a part
of all that I
now merely
see
Franz Wright
Whence that sharp, startled sense of moisture that seems to come from behind one’s eyes? Awesome beauty.
Wish I could have skiied where those footprints are. It’s a wonderful wintry scene. (But where are the pubic violets?)
Ask Diane, the poet in the family. She has an answer.
Twice, I read public violets.
pubic, public…makes no difference. It’s a maudlin albeit evocative depressing poem. I don’t like it. In fact E.D. is in her coma from reading one Franz Wright’s poetry. Either that or she is shielding herself from the State of the Union address. I say she wakes up and recites Green Eggs and Ham. Nice photo though. Pubic violets are no doubt underneath the poetic blanket of snow. I could only guess what Ogden Nash would do with the phrase “pubic violets”.
This photo from the man who claims that his skies never come out right and so he usually crops them. I hope that the sky in this photo was cropped by the camera and not by photoshop…I wish we could see more!