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Intersect: Poems
Poems by Carol Shields.
- GenresPoetry
59 pages, Unknown Binding
First published January 1, 1974
27 people want to read
About the author
Carol Shields
65Ìýbooks648ÌýfollowersCarol Ann Shields was an American-born Canadian author. She is best known for her successful 1993 novel The Stone Diaries, which won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction as well as the Governor General's Award. Her novel Swann won the Best Novel in 1988.
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
January 21, 2022
At night
lying close together
propped up by accustomed pillows
they read in a shaded slant
of yellow light.
He is intent
on his book while she browses
happily enough through magazines.
The hour narrows
that which they scarcely miss
between
them and turning pages their elbows
sometimes touch by accident.
They're locked into print,
paper adheres to the skin
of their sleep, and ink thins
their dreams to water
but what does it matter.
Peace like this
is an accomplishment.
* * *
Minutes hide their tiny Tears
and Days weep into Aprons.
A stifled Sorrow from the Years
And Silence from the Eons.
* * *
Calling good-by good-by
but thinking it's easy enough
for you, opening a blind
door on the promising dark,
but for us left behind
to forage
in this insane
quiet, nothing at all remains
of this evening.
only the ringed
print of a glass, a rough
question mark
in another language
asking what for and why.
* * *
Out of absence
the snail-curved
spine has grown
another centimeter.
Darkness is more
than climate here.
It has substance
and dimension.
Its dense-walled centre
spins bone on bone
links blank tendons
to blind nerves,
and never dreams or senses
what pours
daily from the unknown
impossible eye of the sun.
* * *
When he speaks
it is with privileged
angular paragraphs
of old essays,
his phrases antique
and shapely as jewellry.
But when he laughs
he touches new territory
somewhere sad between
language and breath
just missing the edge
of what he really
means.
* * *
For years we
read everything he
wrote
which is why
tonight we are
diminished by
his handshake
disremembered
by the bitter
minerals of his throat
a form of treason
it will take
longer to forget than
it did to remember
lying close together
propped up by accustomed pillows
they read in a shaded slant
of yellow light.
He is intent
on his book while she browses
happily enough through magazines.
The hour narrows
that which they scarcely miss
between
them and turning pages their elbows
sometimes touch by accident.
They're locked into print,
paper adheres to the skin
of their sleep, and ink thins
their dreams to water
but what does it matter.
Peace like this
is an accomplishment.
- Reading In Bed, pg. 13
* * *
Minutes hide their tiny Tears
and Days weep into Aprons.
A stifled Sorrow from the Years
And Silence from the Eons.
- Emily DIckinson, pg. 19
* * *
Calling good-by good-by
but thinking it's easy enough
for you, opening a blind
door on the promising dark,
but for us left behind
to forage
in this insane
quiet, nothing at all remains
of this evening.
only the ringed
print of a glass, a rough
question mark
in another language
asking what for and why.
- After the Party: 1, pg. 24
* * *
Out of absence
the snail-curved
spine has grown
another centimeter.
Darkness is more
than climate here.
It has substance
and dimension.
Its dense-walled centre
spins bone on bone
links blank tendons
to blind nerves,
and never dreams or senses
what pours
daily from the unknown
impossible eye of the sun.
- Fetus, pg. 33
* * *
When he speaks
it is with privileged
angular paragraphs
of old essays,
his phrases antique
and shapely as jewellry.
But when he laughs
he touches new territory
somewhere sad between
language and breath
just missing the edge
of what he really
means.
- Uncle, pg. 40
* * *
For years we
read everything he
wrote
which is why
tonight we are
diminished by
his handshake
disremembered
by the bitter
minerals of his throat
a form of treason
it will take
longer to forget than
it did to remember
- Poet, pg. 51
Displaying 1 of 1 review
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