\n1.<\/p>\n
You cannot reach the beautiful world.
\nIt is everywhere and nowhere.
\nIt thinks we do not know, but we do.<\/p>\n
\n2.<\/p>\n
Once I glimpsed it. My sister
\nopened the door and ran through.<\/p>\n
She vanished among the trees beside the lake.
\nThe rest of us returned to our tasks.<\/p>\n
The place we lived was not the beautiful world.
\nThe beautiful world is everywhere and nowhere. <\/p>\n
You cannot reach it.<\/p>\n
\n3.<\/p>\n
I remember when I was little
\nmy father said to my mother:<\/p>\n
Que tu es belle!<\/em><\/p>\n I did not know what he meant. Then I heard him say: Your eyes . . . tes yeux . . .<\/em><\/p>\n For a moment my mother looked alarmed.<\/p>\n My father, too, looked alarmed . . . A book.<\/p>\n It arrived in a parcel. I read that book a thousand times. House with piano. You cannot reach it.<\/p>\n House with stairs. House with The Tennessee Waltz<\/em>. House with windows. When I grew older, I worked in a factory. We made large lengths of metal The metal made an angry sound But you had to look at it.<\/p>\n It was not her lovely eyes. It was not the trees. It was not the window or the lake. there for a moment each morning. <\/p>\n There was a park in that city A man ran out of the woods, shouting, Then the gunfire and the rain began.<\/p>\n The beautiful world is sad . . . People there grow vegetables, Otherwise they do nothing. So much cold came out of the earth, Was there some way to make it stop?<\/p>\n Branches laid on the earth, But the cold kept on rising. It was in the wings of angels It rose around my sister\u2019s empty bed.<\/p>\n It rose around my father, who seemed lost.<\/p>\n It rose around my mother, who was gone.<\/p>\n Two men kicked down the door. This is interesting, said the shorter one.<\/p>\n I was alone in the house.<\/p>\n The other man said nothing. It does not want to be beautiful. But it cannot live in a house.<\/p>\n It wants a family.<\/p>\n But it needs too many rooms.<\/p>\n Then where are the birds going? Over here!<\/em> we call. Over here!<\/em><\/p>\n Where the trees have gathered to admire the water.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Harmonious lovely girl is writing me a letter. I check out her busy November schedule Well I will ride out through the furious woods The Beautiful World 1. You cannot reach the beautiful world. It is everywhere and nowhere. It thinks we do not know, but we do. 2. Once I glimpsed it. My sister opened the door and ran through. She vanished among the trees beside the lake. The rest of us returned to our tasks. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":189,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[338,339],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n
\nI sat on the floor and watched my mother.<\/p>\n
\nhe had been hoping to make her smile.<\/p>\n
\n4.<\/p>\n
\nA man brought it on a bicycle.
\nHe knocked at the door and blew a whistle.<\/p>\n
\nIt knew about the beautiful world.
\nEach time was the very last time.<\/p>\n
\n5.<\/p>\n
\nHouse with naughty children.<\/p>\n
\nHouse with several fires.
\nHouse smelling of shit and toothpaste.<\/p>\n
\nHouse with a garden \u2013
\nflowers and vegetables \u2013 things that swim in the earth.<\/p>\n
\n6.<\/p>\n
\nIt was a cold new thing.<\/p>\n
\ninto tiny bits of metal.<\/p>\n
\neach time you looked at it.<\/p>\n
\n7.<\/p>\n
\nI think it was her lovely hair.<\/p>\n
\nIt was somewhere beyond the trees.<\/p>\n
\nIt was the lake seen from the window,<\/p>\n
\n8.<\/p>\n
\nwhere we all assembled.
\nOne edge was the edge of the woods.<\/p>\n
\nand into the city, shouting.<\/p>\n
\n9.<\/p>\n
\nso all the travellers say.<\/p>\n
\nThey smoke cheroots<\/em>
\nand keep a goat.<\/p>\n
\nAll day they dream about their dreams.<\/p>\n
\n10.<\/p>\n
\nwe could not talk about it.<\/p>\n
\nbits of metal, planks, old blankets.<\/p>\n
\nWe shivered and could not talk about it.<\/p>\n
\nin the graveyard where we walked.<\/p>\n
\n11.<\/p>\n
\nThey shouted, then they stood still.<\/p>\n
\nHe walked quickly away.<\/p>\n
\n12.<\/p>\n
\nIt wants to live in a house.<\/p>\n
\n13.<\/p>\n
\nWhere is the helicopter going?
\nWhere is the sky going, with all its clouds?<\/p>\n
\n14.<\/p>\nWhere our sister has opened the door.<\/strike><\/p>\nWhere our father stands beside our mother.<\/strike><\/p>\nThe Poet<\/h4>\n
\nHer shirt falls open
\nat the dark desk where she sits.
\nOh she takes a thousand different forms,
\nthat is the truth of it. Maybe she is wearing jodhpurs
\nor is nearly naked, tuning her lute.
\nGo from the window, my dear,
\nyou cannot be lodged here . . .<\/em>
\nHer voice when she begins to sing
\nis always mildly troubling.<\/p>\n
\nand note that I am nowhere in it.
\nShe is like an ocean made of plastic bags.
\nNo one can swim there
\nthough sometimes the truly brazen float.
\nYou hear applause each time they hit another boat.
\nThe rest of us sit and watch the barrage.
\nWe are mostly missing persons.
\nWe hate October.
\nWe hate October and all its sinkings.<\/p>\n
\nwhere nothing is harmonious.
\nMy life has become almost a scream
\nfrom all the galloping. There is nothing
\nnew under the sun, yet this is where
\nmy best ideas come from. Yes, most of us
\nare mostly harmless: we all have tote bags
\nwhich we tote. Meanwhile the high trees rest,
\nthe children sleep, the wind gets up.
\nA horse is more than its harness.
\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"