{"product_id":"never-poems","title":"Never: Poems","description":"\u003cbody\u003e\n\u003cb\u003eTitle: \u003c\/b\u003eNever: Poems\n\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eAuthor: \u003c\/b\u003eJorie Graham\n\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eISBN: \u003c\/b\u003e0060084715\n\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePublisher: \u003c\/b\u003eEcco\n\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePublished: \u003c\/b\u003e2002\n\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eBinding: \u003c\/b\u003eHardcover\n\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eLanguage: \u003c\/b\u003eEnglish\n\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eEdition: \u003c\/b\u003eFirst Edition\n\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eNumber of Pages: \u003c\/b\u003e128\n\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eCondition Note: \u003c\/b\u003eClean, unmarked copy with some edge wear. Good binding. Dust jacket included if issued with one. We ship in recyclable American-made mailers. 100% money-back guarantee on all orders.\n\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePublisher Description: \u003c\/b\u003ePrayer \u003cp\u003eOver a dock railing, I watch the minnows, thousands, swirl\u003cbr\u003e themselves, each a minuscule muscle, but also, without the\u003cbr\u003e way to create current, making of their unison (turning, re- infolding, \u003cbr\u003e entering and exiting their own unison in unison) making of themselves a\u003cbr\u003e visual current, one that cannot freight or sway by\u003cbr\u003e minutest fractions the water' s downdrafts and upswirls, the\u003cbr\u003e dockside cycles of finally-arriving boat-wakes, there where\u003cbr\u003e they hit deeper resistance, water that seems to burst into\u003cbr\u003e itself (it has those layers), a real current though mostly\u003cbr\u003e invisible sending into the visible (minnows) arrowing\u003cbr\u003e motion that forces change -- \u003cbr\u003e this is freedom. This is the force of faith. Nobody gets\u003cbr\u003e what they want. Never again are you the same. The longing\u003cbr\u003e is to be pure. What you get is to be changed. More and more by\u003cbr\u003e each glistening minute, through which infinity threads itself, \u003cbr\u003e also oblivion, of course, the aftershocks of something\u003cbr\u003e at sea. Here, hands full of sand, letting it sift through\u003cbr\u003e in the wind, I look in and say take this, this is\u003cbr\u003e what I have saved, take this, hurry. And if I listen\u003cbr\u003e now? Listen, I was not saying anything. It was only\u003cbr\u003e something I did. I could not choose words. I am free to go.\u003cbr\u003e I cannot of course come back. Not to this. Never.\u003cbr\u003e It is a ghost posed on my lips. Here: never.\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAfterwards And translucence itself, bare, bony, feeding and growing on the manifest, \u003cbr\u003e frets in the small puddles of snowmelt sidewalks and frozen lawns hold up\u003cbr\u003e full of sky.\u003cbr\u003e From this eternity, where we do notresemble ourselves, where \u003cbr\u003e resemblance is finally\u003cbr\u003e beside (as the river is) the point, \u003cbr\u003e and attention can no longer change the outcome of the gaze, \u003cbr\u003e the ear too is finally sated, starlings starting up ladderings of chatter, \u003cbr\u003e all at once all to the left, \u003cbr\u003e invisible in the pruned-back\u003cbr\u003e hawthorn, heard and heard again, and yet again\u003cbr\u003e differently heard, but silting\u003cbr\u003e the head with inwardness and making always a\u003cbr\u003e dispersing but still\u003cbr\u003e coalescing opening in the listener who\u003cbr\u003e cannot look at them exactly, \u003cbr\u003e since they are invisible inside the greens -- though screeching-full in\u003cbr\u003e syncopations of yellowest, \u003cbr\u003e fine-thought, finespun\u003cbr\u003e rivering of almost-knowables. \"Gold\" is too dark. \"Featherwork\"\u003cbr\u003e too thick. When two\u003cbr\u003e appear in flight, straight to the child-sized pond of\u003cbr\u003e melted snow, \u003cbr\u003e and thrash, dunk, rise, shake, rethrashing, reconfiguring through\u003cbr\u003e reshufflings and resettlings the whole body of integrated\u003cbr\u003e featherwork, \u003cbr\u003e they shatter open the blue-and-tree-tip filled-up gaze of\u003cbr\u003e the lawn' s two pools, \u003cbr\u003e breaking and ruffling all the crisp true sky we had seen living \u003cbr\u003e down in that tasseled\u003cbr\u003e earth. How shall we say this happened? Something inaudible\u003cbr\u003e has ceased. Has gone back round to an other side \u003cbr\u003e of which this side' s access was [is] this width of sky\u003cbr\u003e deep in\u003cbr\u003e just-greening soil? We left the party without a word.\u003cbr\u003e We did not change, but time changed us. It should be, \u003cbr\u003e it seems, one or the other of us who is supposed to say -- lest\u003cbr\u003e there be nothing -- here we are. It was supposed to become familiar\u003cbr\u003e (this earth). It was to become \"ours.\" Lest there be nothing?\u003cbr\u003e Lest wereach down to touch our own reflection here? \u003cbr\u003e Shouldn' t depth come to sight and let it in, in the end, as the form\u003cbr\u003e the farewell takes: representation: dead men: \u003cbr\u003e lean forward and look in: the raggedness of where the openings\u003cbr\u003e are: precision of the limbs upthrusting down to hell: \u003cbr\u003e the gleaming in: so blue: and that it has a bottom: even a few clouds \u003cbr\u003e if you keep \u003cbr\u003e attending: and something that' s an edge-of: and mind-cracks: and how the\u003cbr\u003e poem is\u003cbr\u003e about that: that distant life: I carry it inside me but\u003cbr\u003e can plant it into soil: so that it becomes impossible\u003cbr\u003e to say that anything swayed\u003cbr\u003e from in to out: then back to \"is this mine, or yours?\": the mind\u003cbr\u003e seeks danger out: it reaches in, would touch: where the subject is emptying, \u003cbr\u003e war is: \u003cbr\u003e morality play: preface: what there is to be thought: love: \u003cbr\u003e begin with the world: let it be small enough.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/body\u003e","brand":"Ecco","offers":[{"title":"Never: Poems | Jorie Graham | Hardcover | 0060084715 | Used: Very Good | Back Stacks B 1777206","offer_id":49765630673048,"sku":"1777206","price":9.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0492\/1609\/4360\/files\/71xDCxGfshL.jpg?v=1787970455","url":"https:\/\/roundaboutbookstore.com\/products\/never-poems","provider":"Roundabout Books","version":"1.0","type":"link"}