{"id":3738,"date":"2022-02-24T07:36:01","date_gmt":"2022-02-24T12:36:01","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/?p=3738"},"modified":"2022-02-24T07:36:02","modified_gmt":"2022-02-24T12:36:02","slug":"a-poem-for-a-thursday-168","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2022\/02\/24\/a-poem-for-a-thursday-168\/","title":{"rendered":"A Poem for a Thursday #168"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Louise Bogan was an American writer of poetry, fiction, and criticism. She was appointed the poet laureate to the Library of Congress and was the first woman to hold this position. She also reviewed poetry for The New Yorker<\/em> for thirty-eight years. Her poetry is described as “unique in its strict adherence to lyrical forms, while maintaining a high emotional pitch: she was preoccupied with exploring the perpetual disparity of heart and mind.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Now that I have your face by heart, I look\nLess at its features than its darkening frame\nWhere quince and melon, yellow as young flame,\nLie with quilled dahlias and the shpherd's crook.\nBeyond, a garden. There, in insolent ease\nThe lead and marble figures watch the show\nOf yet another summer loath to go\nAlthough the scythes hang in the apple trees.\n\nNow that I have your face by heart, I look.\n\nNow that I have your voice by heart, I read\nIn the black chords upon a dulling page\nMusic that is not meant for music's cage,\nWhose emblems mix with words that shake and bleed.\nThe staves are shuttled over with a stark\nUnprinted silence. In a double dream\nI must spell out the storm, the running stream. \nThe beat's too swift. The notes shift in the dark.\n\nNow that I have your voice by heart, I read.\n\nNow that I have your heart by heart, I see\nThe wharves with their great ships and architraves;\nThe rigging and the cargo and the slaves\nOn a strange beach under a broken sky.\nO not departure, but a voyage done!  \nThe bales stand on the stone; the anchor weeps\nIts red rust downward, and the long vine creeps\nBeside the salt herb, in the lengthening sun.\n\nNow that I have your heart by heart, I see.\n\n\nSong for the Last Act\nLouise Bogan<\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Louise Bogan was an American writer of poetry, fiction, and criticism. She was appointed the poet laureate to the Library of Congress and was the first woman to hold this position. She also reviewed poetry for The New Yorker for thirty-eight years. Her poetry is described as “unique in its strict adherence to lyrical forms, while maintaining a high emotional pitch: she was preoccupied with exploring the perpetual disparity of heart and mind.” Now that I have your face by heart, I look Less at its features than its darkening frame Where quince and melon, yellow as young flame, Lie with quilled dahlias and the shpherd’s crook. Beyond, a garden. There, in insolent ease The lead and marble figures watch the show Of yet another summer loath to go Although the scythes hang in the apple trees. Now that I have your face by heart, I look. Now that I have your voice by heart, I read In the black chords upon a dulling page Music that is not meant for music’s cage, Whose emblems mix with words that shake and bleed. The staves are shuttled over with a stark Unprinted silence. In a double dream I must spell out the storm, the running stream. The beat’s too swift. The notes shift in the dark. Now that I have your voice by heart, I read. Now that I have your heart by heart, I see The wharves with their great ships and architraves; The rigging and the cargo and the slaves On a strange beach under a broken sky. O not departure, but a voyage done! The bales stand on the stone; the anchor weeps Its red rust downward, and the long vine creeps Beside the salt herb, in the lengthening sun. Now that I have your heart by heart, I see. Song for the Last Act Louise Bogan<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3739,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3738","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poem-for-a-thursday"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3738","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3738"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3738\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3740,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3738\/revisions\/3740"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3739"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3738"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3738"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3738"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}