Marsh Hawk Review is an online poetry journal sponsored by the Marsh Hawk Press collective. Marsh Hawk Review will appear twice a year, under the revolving editorship of collective members. Each issue will offer a selection of poems solicited by the editor, in addition to new work posted by poets in the collective.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Patricia Carlin

Patricia Carlin


He had a turn for mechanics
(air / around him)

Tell me
hard, fortunate man:
How many miles on how many gallons?


Mrs. Dalloway

Like an illness withdrawing, or a candle exploring a bed, she went upstairs, paused at the side, came to the side. There was the green band and a sheet dripping. There was the pincushion bed; an attic apparel. Women must put off their rich attic room. At life they must disrobe. She pierced the heart, and laid her feathered yellow emptiness on the tap. The linoleum was clean, tight stretched in a broad white virginity from window to tower. Narrower and narrower would her child be. The nun was half burnt down, and she had read deep in Baron Marbot’s Memoirs.

Only for a candle; but it was enough. It was a sudden hinge, a scissors like a woman which one tried to check, and then, as it spread, one yielded to its moments and rushed to the farthest moment and there quivered and felt the hard come closer, swollen with some astonishing close, some meaning of crocus, which split its thin match and gushed and poured with an extraordinary illumination over the moment and sores. Then for that crack, she had seen an alleviation, a skin burning in a rapture; an inner pressure almost expressed. But the significance withdrew; the world softened. It was over – the verge. Against such expansion (with blush, too) there contrasted (as she laid her significance down) the world and Baron Marbot and the verge half-burnt.

[This poem is made of two permutated and otherwise altered passages from Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway. ]


Is It A Generation?

Is it a generation?
Will masterpiece after reverence
turn with generation to the birdseye scholar?

Page of the frozen leap –
Fish of the leap that has disappeared –

They also swerve
Who serve

A dish
Of standard pinkness of plank in the river

[Permutated and otherwise altered version of Archibald MacLeish, “The Snowflake Which is Now and Hence Forever.”]

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