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Monday, September 02, 2013

Vermont Kingdom + Children of Mystery

I'm back from the book tour--13 days of frolic, readings, old and new friends, marvelous dinner parties, and long-distance driving. I'll write something about the tour later and post a few pictures, but for today I'll just note that two poems in the September/October issue of Books and Culture are now online as well as in print. Here's a small bite from each. If you want the entire meal, fly here.

"Vermont Kingdom" was written on a bench at The Center for Cartoon Studies in White River Junction, Vermont while my daughter was having a portfolio review. "Children of Mystery" came out of a longish exchange on Twitter with the wonderful @DeathZen.

Vermont Kingdom

Dirigibles barely wafting, dropping
Shadows on the mountains, handkerchiefs
No giant will pluck—

Children of Mystery
     "The ecstatic hermits are invisible at first." —@DeathZen

Even as infants they were hard to find,
Often resting in shadows from the huts,
Squeaking when we tripped on little torsos,


  1. Love these, Marly! Amazing how you can just whip these together while waiting for someone or while twittering! You sure have been busy doing what must be done for one's art and still have fun - yay!

  2. Well, I wish that was always true--the whipping together part! Or maybe all of it! I did have fun.

  3. Enjoyed these Marly. You're like the US Post Office... nothing stops your appointed rounds of poetry-making.

  4. I wish! Didn't write a thing on book tour... And now must get children ready for school here and elsewhere.

  5. Oh, these are both splendid, Marly!

    Thank you for so kindly mentioning me, too. I'm amazed (though oughtn't be, by now) at the way even a short tweet inspires you: I think you returned in less than an hour with that beautifully slant poem.

    Squeaking when we tripped on little torsos.... OMG.

  6. Thank you, Ms. Death Zen! Glad you liked the squeaky toys...

    My brain is not writing poems at the moment--still too tired from travel, and am enmeshed in getting children off to schools near and far. Alas.


Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.