An aside on Wallace Stevens
I read him for the granulations of time
for the immaculate imagery
with which he sketches our existence
the true interior life that sums us up
for the transparence of place he inhabits
and for the thoughtfulness of his voice
He is a master of landscapes
of rivers and mountains and plains
and trees and blackbirds with an acute eye
for anything that moves
in a field of snow
and in his observations he is always
central and necessary and just as the stars
he stands naked in the cosmos
How often do we note that the sea
breaks on the edges of his lines
that are composed
for oboe or hautboy
intuitive melodies to be performed
in the haunted forests of our cities
evoking all those unsettling truths
so deeply buried in our blood
John Lyons