| YouTube: | https://youtube.com/watch?v=WonHwmdoJ-M |
| Previous: | Mike Rugnetta reads Alyssa Berg |
| Next: | Analicia Sotelo reads "My Story in a Late Style of Fire" |
Categories
Statistics
| View count: | 3,136 |
| Likes: | 267 |
| Comments: | 7 |
| Duration: | 01:23 |
| Uploaded: | 2020-07-17 |
| Last sync: | 2024-04-12 01:45 |
Eduardo C. Corral reads Don McKay's poem, "Kinds of Blue #76 (Evening Snow)".
Eduardo:
https://twitter.com/EduardoCCorral
Brought to you by Complexly, The Poetry Foundation, and poet Paige Lewis. Learn more: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/
11 issues of Poetry, subscribe today for $20: https://poetrymagazine.org/OursPoetica
Follow us elsewhere for the full Ours Poetica experience:
twitter.com/ourspoeticashow
instagram.com/ourspoeticashow
facebook.com/ourspoeticashow
#poetry #ourspoetica
Eduardo:
https://twitter.com/EduardoCCorral
Brought to you by Complexly, The Poetry Foundation, and poet Paige Lewis. Learn more: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/
11 issues of Poetry, subscribe today for $20: https://poetrymagazine.org/OursPoetica
Follow us elsewhere for the full Ours Poetica experience:
twitter.com/ourspoeticashow
instagram.com/ourspoeticashow
facebook.com/ourspoeticashow
#poetry #ourspoetica
My name is Eduardo C. Corral. I'm going to read a poem by Don McKay, one of my favorite Canadian poets. I love this poem because it's suggests, or it's almost trying to tell us, is telling us, that by walking away from the natural world, we have corrupted ourselves and sold ourselves out.
"Kinds of Blue #76 (Evening Snow)"
A blue against the easy clarities of sky,
a blue that eats the light, a bruise
ascended from forgetfulness. Things
have been overtaken by their shadows, stilled
and stricken dumb. What did they know
anyway? Only cold may speak
or not speak. Inside pain,
singing, inside song
another pain which is the dialects of snow.
And us, full of holes
and chambers
and for rent.
"Kinds of Blue #76 (Evening Snow)"
A blue against the easy clarities of sky,
a blue that eats the light, a bruise
ascended from forgetfulness. Things
have been overtaken by their shadows, stilled
and stricken dumb. What did they know
anyway? Only cold may speak
or not speak. Inside pain,
singing, inside song
another pain which is the dialects of snow.
And us, full of holes
and chambers
and for rent.