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About this poet

Dan Beachy-Quick is the author, most recently, of A Brighter Word Than Bright: Keats at Work (Iowa University Press, 2013). He is a Monfort Professor teaching in the MFA Creative Writing Program at Colorado State University and lives in Fort Collins, Colorado.

Heroisms, 4, 5

Dan Beachy-Quick
4.

I speak these words directly into his yawn

Open cave of
                    his dark almost kind
                                                  of fire-lit mouth 


And the shadows there my words form these shadows
In the back of the hero's throat

A world we applaud where chained to the ground
We watch the trees walk past us. There are other ways to describe the year:

Seasons of
The hero's boredom. 


5.

Where the horror is comparison, honor sees
Hands in the trees instead of leaves—

Honesty asks why the applause is so quiet
When the wind blows so hard—

Breath is the atmosphere at utmost extreme
Where the lungs are flowers—thought the dew—

The sun doubts everything, a general statement
In whose light the hero sees these helpless things

Beg mercy, beg darkness for obscurity—
We do not comprehend the awe, it comprehends us—

When leaves fold in halves they look sleepy
Like eyes, but these eyes are fists

Copyright © 2010 by Dan Beachy-Quick. Used by permission of the author.

Copyright © 2010 by Dan Beachy-Quick. Used by permission of the author.

Dan Beachy-Quick

Dan Beachy-Quick is the author, most recently, of A Brighter Word Than Bright: Keats at Work (Iowa University Press, 2013). He is a Monfort Professor teaching in the MFA Creative Writing Program at Colorado State University and lives in Fort Collins, Colorado.

by this poet

poem
But how find how as it flew onward
& the mountains gave back the sound
to say what I mean the call of the bird
& the echoe after to say I've seen?

Raven hungers and calls and the mountain
Hungers back and calls
The whole range of peaks in the bird's beak.
Raven lonely and the mountain rings
poem


The wars are everywhere, o even within.

Drawn in poor bee by the dance loud hum

Of some

poem

     I know, to entice, to convince, I must sing
   Your ear inside stone, must sing
     Gold bitten and true, the corn kernel, one seed, 
       I must plant one gold seed in your mouth with my lips.
Raleigh says: the Queen knows my name. The Crown
       Of a woodpecker is