Friday, April 17, 2015

Poetry Friday: Richard Wilbur (aka, He Who Never Fails to Bowl Me Over)

Although I have often commented on him, Richard Wilbur doesn't need my blather. Here he is, simply being his perfect, poetic self.

April 5, 1974
by Richard Wilbur

The air was soft, the ground still cold.
In the dull pasture where I strolled
Was something I could not believe.
Dead grass appeared to slide and heave,
Though still too frozen-flat to stir,
And rocks to twitch and all to blur.
What was this rippling of the land?
Was matter getting out of hand

(Read the rest here, at The Writer's Almanac.)


Robyn Hood Black said...

Such a perfect poem for spring, Karen.

"It came of winter’s giving ground
So that the freeze was coming out,
As when a set mind, blessed by doubt,
Relaxes into mother-wit.
Flowers, I said, will come of it" -
that's a killer last stanza. Thanks for sharing today!

jama said...

Lovely poem. Great last line! I like Wilbur's poetry too :).

Karen Edmisten said...

Robyn, yes, the last stanza (just had to re-type that as it came out "lastanza" but I think I like that!) is amazing.

Jama, thanks for stopping by and so glad you like it, too!