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210th Virtual Poetry Circle

Welcome to the 210th Virtual Poetry Circle!

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock’s books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don’t like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Also, sign up for the 2013 Dive Into Poetry Challenge because its simple; you only need to read 1 book of poetry. Check out the stops on the 2013 National Poetry Month Blog Tour and the 2012 National Poetry Month Blog Tour.

Today’s poem is from Louise Bogan:

Epitaph for a Romantic Woman

She has attained the permanence
She dreamed of, where old stones lie sunning.
Untended stalks blow over her
Even and swift, like young men running.

Always in the heart she loved
Others had lived,—she heard their laughter.
She lies where none has lain before,
Where certainly none will follow after. 

What do you think?

  • I’ve been puzzling over this little poem. It feels much more than melancholy to me. It actually feels like the epitaph of a woman who love and gave everything to others in life:

    Always in the heart she loved / Others had lived,

    Only to find her love was not returned, and she is, in the end, alone:

    She lies where none has lain before, / Where certainly none will follow after.

    Could be that I just need some Prozac.

  • I really liked this one. I feel the melancholy but at least she got what she wanted in death.

  • Beth Hoffman

    Every single line is wonderful. I particularly loved “where old stones lie sunning.”

    Thank you for introducing me to Louise Bogan’s work!

  • Yes like this, particularly the 3rd & 4th lines great image. Will respond with a current favourite.
    Sparrow Trapped In The Airport – Averill Curdy

    Never the bark and abalone mask
    cracked by storms of a mastering god,
    never the gods’ favored glamour, never
    the pelagic messenger bearing orchards
    in its beak, never allegory, not wisdom
    or valor or cunning, much less hunger
    demanding vigilance, industry, invention,
    or the instinct to claim some small rise
    above the plain and from there to assert
    the song of another day ending;
    lentil brown, uncounted, overlooked
    in the clamorous public of the flock
    so unlikely to be noticed here by arrivals,
    faces shining with oils of their many miles,
    where it hops and scratches below
    the baggage carousel and lights too high,
    too bright for any real illumination,
    looking more like a fumbled punch line
    than a stowaway whose revelation
    recalls how lightly we once traveled.

  • Just noticed the title. Duuuuh!:)

  • I can see the “untended stalks” blowing over her grave. Means no one visits her resting place. There is a tone of sadness throughout the poem. Really like it.

    • I thought this was engaging, but melancholy