A gang of crows was chasing offa hawk. The little stream was laughingand shushing itself. The hawk’s reflectionbriefly blurred a pool of waterand then the pool went back to waitingfor nothing or the next reflection.The maple trees were yellow and red,but redder farther up the stream.I wanted especially to sharethe cloud of redder leaves upstreamwith the little girl I had with me,but she was sleeping. Walking home,I thought the willow trees aroundthe pond were standing up like broomsto sweep the sky. That was the voicein my head describing the willow treesas brooms, a thought to stop the worldfor a moment’s moment. She might have thoughtthe willows looked like lashes winkingaround a deep-green eye,but as I say, she was asleepfor this excursion in the world.And she hasn’t told me yet aboutthe voice inside her head. For the momentthat voice is learning how to listento its own mysterious silence. I expectit’s like a sanctuary in therewith a candle glowing at the back of the roomand violets dotting the grass outside.
Violets in the Fall
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- July 27, 2024
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“Violets in the Fall” from SNAKEDOCTOR: by Maurice Manning.
Published by Copper Canyon Press on November 14, 2023.
Copyright © 2023 by Maurice Manning.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
“Manning’s work is set apart by his belief in the narrative quality of the world—a belief manifested in poetry that conveys self-forgetful wonderment at nature, a sincere longing for transcendence, and a quiet hope that beauty will last... Decisions about the form and content of his poetry aren’t merely aesthetic—the aesthetic implies the ethical. When he flirts with and then rejects Wright’s free verse style, refusing ‘to leave the sense of meaning / behind,’ he’s ultimately rejecting the ethic of the unmediated self and clinging instead to his familial, cultural, and spiritual heritage. He’s embracing an ethic of citizenship.”
—Timothy Kleiser
"There’s something Taoist about Maurice Manning. Close your eyes and he’s wandering around the 6th Century BCE landlocked Henan province instead of the Twenty-first Century Kentucky countryside, philosophizing about love, time, art, remembering poignant folk stories about moonshiners, his father and grandfather, all in the context of lush and lonely rural Kentucky, musing, generally, about existence and how we fit in."
—Charles Rammelkamp
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