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Poem of the day

by George Oppen

Old ships are preserved
For their queer silence of obedient seas
Their cutwaters floating in the still water
With their cozy black iron work
And Swedish seamen dead    the cabins
Hold the spaces of their deaths
And the hammered nails of necessity
Carried thru the oceans
Where the moon rises grandly
In the grandeur of cause
We have a taste for bedrock
Beneath this spectacle
To gawk at
Something is wrong with the antiques, a black fluid
Has covered them, a black splintering
Under the eyes of young wives
People talk wildly, we are beginning to talk wildly, the wind
At every summit
Our overcoats trip us
Running for the bus
Our arms stretched out
In a wind from what were sand dunes
            - from “Some San Francisco Poems”
               in George Oppen: Selected Poems



Random Name Poetry Series

(at our very own Penn Book Center)

Readings are on Saturdays at 2pm

  •   August 2: Mark Johnson and Steve McLaughlin

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