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FURTHER READING
Poems by Jennifer Grotz
The Needle
Poems about Anonymity and Loneliness
"My True Love Hath My Heart and I Have His"
by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
79
by Joachim du Bellay
Don't Let Me Be Lonely [There was a time]
by Claudia Rankine
Acts of Mind
by Catherine Barnett
Alone
by Maya Angelou
Alone for a Week
by Jane Kenyon
Angel of Duluth [excerpt]
by Madelon Sprengnether
At a Window
by Carl Sandburg
Beyond the Pane
by Greg Hewett
Boston
by Aaron Smith
Danse Russe
by William Carlos Williams
Dear Lonely Animal,
by Oni Buchanan
Demeter in Paris
by Meghan O'Rourke
Donal Óg
by Isabella Augusta, Lady Gregory
Drawing from Life
by Reginald Shepherd
Eating Alone
by Li-Young Lee
Found Poem
by Howard Nemerov
Gospel
by Philip Levine
How I Am
by Jason Shinder
How the mind works still to be sure
by Jennifer Denrow
How to See Deer
by Philip Booth
I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone
by Rainer Maria Rilke
I Am!
by John Clare
I'm Nobody! Who are you? (260)
by Emily Dickinson
Isolation: To Marguerite
by Matthew Arnold
Loneliness
by Trumbull Stickney
Mnemosyne
by Trumbull Stickney
Montparnasse
by Ernest Hemingway
Mountain Pines
by Robinson Jeffers
Museum
by Glyn Maxwell
Ode to Solitude
by Alexander Pope
On the Terrace
by Landis Everson
R.I.P., My Love
by Tory Dent
Sex
by Michael Ryan
Skunk Hour
by Robert Lowell
Song of Myself
by John Canaday
Song of Quietness
by Robinson Jeffers
Sonnet V
by Mahmoud Darwish
Sympathy
by Edith Franklin Wyatt
The Creation
by James Weldon Johnson
The Daffodils
by William Wordsworth
The Hermit Goes Up Attic
by Maxine Kumin
The Living Beauty
by W. B. Yeats
The Long Deployment
by Jehanne Dubrow
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
by T. S. Eliot
The Sleepers
by Walt Whitman
The Suicide
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
the suicide kid
by Charles Bukowski
This Is a Photograph of Me
by Margaret Atwood
Those Winter Sundays
by Robert Hayden
Toro
by Sarah Gambito
WHERE?
by Kenneth Patchen
White Days
by Priscilla Becker
Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand
by Walt Whitman
Why Is the Color of Snow?
by Brenda Shaughnessy
Your Catfish Friend
by Richard Brautigan
Poems about the Self
canvas and mirror
by Evie Shockley
Days of Me
by Stuart Dischell
Excelsior
by Walt Whitman
I Am Not Yours
by Sara Teasdale
I Am!
by John Clare
In Knowledge of Young Boys
by Toi Derricotte
In Whoever's Hotel Room This Is
by Matt Rasmussen
Intimacy
by Paisley Rekdal
Next Day
by Randall Jarrell
Red Bank
by Lesle Lewis
Song for Future Books
by Joanna Fuhrman
Song of Myself, I, II, VI & LII
by Walt Whitman
The Suicide
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
The Summer of Reconciliation
by D. Nurkse
Untitled [Is is]
by Srikanth Reddy
Your Brain Is Yours
by Natalie Lyalin
Poems about the Mind and Thinking
Experiment in Divination: Voice and Character
by Rebecca Wolff
From Trance Notebook #2 [nerdy questions about exact pitch]
by Wayne Koestenbaum
Intention to Escape from Him
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
It was a hard thing to undo this knot
by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Joseph Brodsky in Venice (1981)
by Campbell McGrath
Museum Guard
by David Hernandez
Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow
by Robert Duncan
Panels for the Walls
by Cedar Sigo
Tang
by Bruce Cohen
The Long Hand Wishes It Was Used
by Jackie Clark
The Needle
by Jennifer Grotz
Thoughts
by Walt Whitman
Why I Am Not a Buddhist
by Charles Bernstein
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The Whole World Is Gone

 
by Jennifer Grotz

Driving alone at night, the world’s pitch, black velvet 
stapled occasionally by red tail lights
on the opposite highway but otherwise mild 
panic when the eyes’ habitual check 
produces nothing at all in the rearview mirror,
a black blank, now nothing exists 
but the dotted white lines of the road, 
and the car scissors the blackness open
like the mind’s path through confusion,
but still no clarity, no arrival, only Pennsylvania darkness,
rocks, cliffs, vistas by day that thicken to black. It’s
sensual, though, too, and interestingly mental. What 
I do alone, loving him in my mind. Trying not to 
let imagination win over reality. Hurtling through the night
passions so spent become facts one observes. Not tempered,
just momentarily out of view by the body that perceives them.
Turning that into my prayer: to be deprived.
About this poem:
“For better or worse, I tend to do a lot of thinking in my poems. But lately I've been trying to pay more attention to when and where I do that thinking, to be attentive to the settings in which meditation takes place. Sometimes the disconnect between the mind and the world is itself revealing, but in ‘The Whole World Is Gone,’ I think the setting deeply complements, indeed elicits and allows, a certain set of realizations to occur.”

—Jennifer Grotz






Copyright © 2014 by Jennifer Grotz. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on February 4, 2014. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.
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