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Marianne Moore in Yankee Stadium in 1968 |
"Poetry"
I, too, dislike it.
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers in
it, after all, a place for the genuine.
(Note: the original 1924 version of the poem was much longer -- you can read it here)
"Because You Asked about the Line Between Prose and Poetry"
by Howard Nemerov
Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned to pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.
There came a moment that you couldn’t tell. And then they clearly flew instead of fell.
