Poems January 2015
Nor what we mean
We know no thing, nor what we mean.
Physician, break the story of
the stoic ghost in the machine.
Remind us why and how all joys
and sorrows will rely on love.
Compare a harmony to noise,
reveal the seat of memory,
the streams and seas of consciousness,
the dream that dreamed assembly.
Explain the need for symbol, art,
for song, for dance. For violence.
Describe again the chambered heart.
New to The New Criterion?
Subscribe for one year to receive ten print issues, and gain immediate access to our online archive spanning more than four decades of art and cultural criticism.Subscribe
This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 33 Number 5, on page 39
Copyright © 2023 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com