4225. I AM READING WALLACE STEVENS AGAIN

I AM READING

WALLACE STEVENS AGAIN

I am reading Wallace Stevens again. I have a slender,

tapered candle that burns at one end. These things all

come together for me in words and images dear. It is

so loud and so clear, and easy for me to hear.

I am reading Wallace Stevens again.

-

Becoming is not so difficult  -  it sort of just

happens to us all. Your Mom and your Dad,

fumbling beneath the covers somewhere, shoot

you off into a softened muff with pleasure.

And, then, that's pretty much the end of it  - 

the rest is somehow up to you to measure.

-

I am reading Wallace Stevens again, this

palm at the end of mind, this man with a blue

guitar, this bird with the coppery, keen

claws, this comedian as the letter C. I have

a slender, tapered candle that burns at one

end; I am reading Wallace Stevens again.

-

I find I have very little to say in crowds : all

that nasty, mangled language; those little people

loud, those big people, proud. I have little to say

in a crowd. The noise I always shun. Loneliness in 

Jersey City, the deer and the dachshund are one.