American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Poetry

Charles Wright

A Short History of the Shadow Thanksgiving, dark of the moon. Nothing down here in the underworld but vague shapes and black holes,    Heaven resplendent but virtual Above me,                     trees stripped and triple-wired like Irish harps.    Lights on Pantops and Free Bridge mirror the eastern sky.    Under the bridge is the… Continue reading Charles Wright

Rate this:

American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Fragment · Poetry

Charles Wright

Is it age, is it lack of adoration, is it Regret there’s no ladder to the clouds? Whatever, we inhabit the quotidian, as we must, While somewhere behind our backs,                                                      waterfalls tumble and keep on going Into the deep desire of distance. — Charles Wright, “Waterfalls,” Caribou (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2014)

Rate this:

American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Passage · Poetry

Charles Wright

Some lights are from stars, some from the sun And moon, and other lights are from fires. The light from the stars makes the shadow equal to the body.    Light from fire makes it greater,                         there, under the tongue, there, under the utterance. — Charles Wright, from “A Short History of the Shadow,”… Continue reading Charles Wright

Rate this:

American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Passage · Poetry

Charles Wright

What does one say? What can one say? That death is without a metric, That it has no metaphor? That what will remain is what always remains: The snow; the dark pines, their boughs Heavy with moisture, and failing; The clearings we might have crossed; The footprints we do not leave? —  Charles Wright, from… Continue reading Charles Wright

Rate this:

American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fragment · Poetry

Charles Wright

Nothing’s as far away as love is,                                                             not even the new stars, Though something is moving them We hope in our direction, albeit their skin’s not on fire. — Charles Wright, from “L’Amor Che Move Il Sole E L’Altre Stelle,” Caribou (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2014)

Rate this:

American Literature · Classic · Contemporary · Excerpt · Magazine · Passage · Periodical · Poetry

Charles Wright

At night, in the fish-light of the moon, the dead wear our white shirts To stay warm, and litter the fields. We pick them up in the mornings, dewy pieces of paper and scraps of cloth. Like us, they refract themselves. Like us, They keep on saying the same thing, trying to get it right.… Continue reading Charles Wright

Rate this: