Poem of the week

The poetry posting is a day late this week, because of two Horatio Hornblower movies in a row last night. Jolly good fun.

Lee Ann B. recently introduced me to the poet Joseph Bottum, who writes for the First Things journal. You can find his poetry by running a search for his name on the First Things site. I particularly enjoyed this one (published online at http://www.firstthings.com/ftissues/ft0402/opinion/millman.html).


The Hidden Life

Joseph Bottum

For the poet Dana Gioia,
upon his taking a public office.

Sometimes on evening walks you hear,
in whispers from old wells
and almost-words that rivers speak,
a quiet voice that tells
of small, secluded things. Like murmured
prayers from churchmen’s stalls
or what the marbled echoes say,
it rises, then it falls.
And you may follow when it calls

or you may think to wait. The green
at dusk seems deeper than
the green at dawn. Beyond the gate
a garden opens on
long shadows overgrown with leaves
and lilac nunneries,
between the gravel paths, where sparrows
seek their tenebraes.
And you may follow, if you please,

or keep to public streets. Against
the bruit of busy day,
the private houses close their eyes.
A few small panes betray
high bookshelves in a firelit room,
a woman sweeping floors,
a glimpse of some unknowing boy
at work at evening chores.
And you may follow, through those doors,

or you may turn aside. In lines
of black between the flames,
a fire writes against its light.
Dry hopes, forgotten fames,
the traceless works of childless men:
All printed there to read.
The cinders spell the deeper night,
dark need inside dark need.
And you may follow where they lead

or you may look away.