Poem of the Week

To A Dead Journalist

Behind that white brow
now the mind simply sleeps--
the eyes, closed, the
lips, the mouth,

the chin, no longer useful,
the prow of the nose.
But rumors of he news,
unrealizable,

cling still among those
silent, butted features, a
sort of wonder at
this scoop

come now, to late:
beneath the lucid ripples
to have found so monstrous
an obscurity.


WC Williams

I think dramasnot6 is right. Poetry is how each individual interprets it. There is no limit, no enough to it. To one the poem is about lost love, to another its about fertility. Its how each of us see beyond the lines in so many different ways that makes it so beautiful.

Has this thread been revived? Seem to be several poems posted above, so perhaps everyone's using it to simply post poems they like rather than as a poem of the week discussion? Seeing the title pop up made me think nostalgically of my first post to litnet, which was on an Elizabeth Bishop poem on the old Poem of the Week thread, a thread that provided some great discussions for some time.

this is great!