Villanelles
see also work by Sherman Alexie
One Art
The art of losing isn’t hard to
master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept
the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you
meant
to travel. None of these will bring
disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And
look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And,
vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a
gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s
evident
the art of losing’s not too hard
to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like
disaster.
—Elizabeth Bishop
The More You Have to Lose
Time flies, and a year can go by in a
day.
Look at your watch. Do your eyes
say 2:45 or 9:15?
The more you have, the more you can give
away.
You know the feeling, having no money,
having to stay
With relatives when you travel, unable
to say what you mean:
Time lies, and a year can go by in a day.
When my father turned into my son, as
in a play,
All the fun took place offstage. What
about the missing queen?
The more you have, the more you can give
away.
The less you believe. The more you
wish you could pray.
Like a clock without hands, the truth of
a face remains unseen.
Time lies, and a year can go by in a day.
With an elbow on the counter, and no passions
left to sway,
The all-night waitress smokes butt after
butt, coughing in-between:
The more you have, the more you can throw
away.
Ocean, what is on the other side of all
that blue and gray?
What does the grass know of yesterday's
vanished green?
Time lies, and a year can go by in a day.
The more you have, the more you can give
away.
—David Lehman
First Offense
I'm
sorry, officer, I didn't see the sign
Because, in fact, there wasn't any. I
tell you
The light was green. How much is
the fine?
Will the tumor turn out malignant or benign?
Will the doctor tell us? He said
he knew.
I'm sorry, officer, I didn't see the sign.
Not every madman is an agent of the divine.
Not all who pass are allowed to come through.
The light was green. How much is
the fine?
Which is worse, the rush or the wait? The
line
Interminable, or fear of coming fate? His
anxiety grew.
I'm sorry, officer. I didn't see
the sign.
I'm cold sober. All I had was one
glass of wine.
Was anyone hurt? Is there anything
I can do?
The light was green. How much is
the fine?
Will we make our excuses like so many
clever lines,
Awkwardly delivered? Never to win,
always to woo?
I'm sorry, officer. I didn't see
the sign.
The light was green. How much is
the fine?
—David Lehman
Women in Love
It always
comes, and when it comes they know.
To will it is enough to take them there.
The knack is this, to fasten and not let
go.
Their limbs are charmed; they cannot stay
or go.
Desire is limbo--they're unhappy there.
It always comes, and when it comes they
know.
Their choice of hells would be the one
they know.
Dante describes it, the wind circling there.
The knack is this, to fasten and not let
go.
The wind carries them where they want
to go.
and that seems cruel to strangers passing
there.
It always comes, and when it comes they
know.
The knack is this, to fasten and not let
go.
—Donald Justice