I know the poem of the week is a day late. I'm sorry.
But here's one:
Signs by Larry Levis
All night I dreamed of my home,
of the roads that are so long
and straight they die in the middle—
among the spines of elderly weeds
on either side, among the dead cats,
the ants who are all eyes, the suitcase
thrown open, sprouting failures.
2.
And this evening in the garden
I find the winter
inside a snail shell, rigid and
cool, a little stubborn temple,
its one visitor gone.
3.
If there were messages or signs,
I might hear now a voice tell me
to walk forever, to ask
the mold for pardon, and one
by one I would hear out my sins,
hear they are not important—that I am
part of this rain
drumming its long fingers, and
of the roadside stone refusing
to blink, and of the coyote
nailed to the fence with its
long grin.
And when there are no messages
the dead lie still—
their hands crossed so strangely
like knives and forks after supper.
4.
I stay up late listening.
My feet tap the floor,
they begin a tiny dance
which will outlive me.
They turn away from this poem.
It is almost Spring.
I think this poem has a lot of amazing imagery. Right off the bat in the first stanza, the speaker describes the roads 'among the dead cats, / the ants who are all eyes, the suitcase / thrown open, sprouting failures.' There's already a haunting tone in this poem.
In the second stanza, we have this wonderful image of winter being in a snail shell. I think that's amazing!
And then the last stanza! It's so free and beautiful. The image of the dancing feet outliving the speaker and the final line is so full of hope.
What are your thoughts?
Based on my research of Levis, it is stated that he was an imagist and surrealist. In his opening stanza:
"among the spines of elderly weeds
on either side, among the dead cats,
the ants who are all eyes, the suitcase
thrown open, sprouting failures."
I imagine an abandoned home surrounded by tall grass and weeds, the ground overrun by anthills, and pet cats buried in the backyard. However, I get tripped up by the lines: "the suitcase thrown open, sprouting failures." Is this reference to a broken home? Meaning that the narrator is reminiscing about their troubled childhood. The surrealism is apparent.
Yes definitely there are some beautiful imagery and metaphor.
The snail gone and the arms crossed like knives and forks are my favourite.
C'est effectivement un poème plein de feuilles blonds vénitiens ,de marrons chauds , J'ai un petit faible pour la deuxième strophe : "And this evening in the garden I find the winter inside a snail shell, rigid and cool, a little stubborn temple, its one visitor gone." La structure de la troisième strophe , Nous emmène vers octobre le jour des morts et des mots passés : "If there were messages or signs, I might hear now a voice tell me to walk forever, to ask the mold for pardon, and one by one I would hear out my sins, hear they are not important—that I am part of this rain drumming its long fingers, and of the roadside stone refusing to blink, and of the coyote nailed to the fence with its long grin. And when there are no messages the dead lie still— their hands crossed so strangely like knives and forks after supper." Une très bonne trouvaille .