Ulysses by Umberto Saba, Translated by Stephen Sartarelli

O sad Ulysses in decline, seer

of terrible omens, does

no sweetness in your soul foment

Desire

for a 

pale dreamer of shipwrecks

who loves you?

and then it snows

I don't know how to answer 
wind chases long dead leaves
like a bored dog running after 
everything, when someone asks, 
how are things? I don't expect
false promise scattered 
like a murder just trying to survive
is there more hope in the city?
rude black pepper sneezed airborne. 
sometimes it almost screams 
everything is going to be fine 
and then it isn't, 
I think 
and then it snows. 

 and

Review of Certain Women by Kelly Reichardt

Oh that longing. Damn do I know that longing. I love the walk home from the cheap movie theater ($4 a ticket). The streets are remarkably dark and there's an old cemetery along the way which is, in its own right, an oasis of darkness. Every time I cut through I start out thinking, ah, it's no big deal, so what? and then half through I'm like, what the hell was I thinking? I've watched creatures slay things here, calmly. I really like the director of the movie "Certain Women," Kelly Reichardt. Such glum tone poems of loss & alienation! I've never seen the vampire movies so my impression of her is probably different, but I like how Kristen Stewart can articulate so much without saying much. And I'm fascinated by her eyes. She looks so exhausted & weary all the time, I just want to sit down beside her and ask how she's doing. The woman who cared for horses was a K.D. Lang song, so lunar. I like how the movie frequently paused with the landscape, so beautifully harsh. And no music, until the end. Interesting how intimate the dream can be without music insisting on something, until it needs to. I've been worried I'll get kicked out for complaining, which has reminded me how much I love to live alone.

Acquainted with the Night By Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night. 

I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. 

I have outwalked the furthest city light. 

I have looked down the saddest city lane. 

I have passed by the watchman on his beat 

And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. 

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet 

When far away an interrupted cry 

Came over houses from another street, 

But not to call me back or say good-bye; 

And further still at an unearthly height, 

One luminary clock against the sky 

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. 

I have been one acquainted with the night.

Night People by David Ignatow

See them with their backs
to the sun, studying their shadows
long and dark, and none thinks
to turn around. It will be night
and they will begin to move 
among themselves silently,
touching each other for signposts. 
No one will speak 
and no arm be raised
in a gesture, as they vanish.