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Arthur Sze

1950 –

Here a snail on a wet leaf shivers and dreams of spring.

Here a green iris in December.

Here the topaz light of the sky.

Here one stops hearing a twig break and listens for deer.

Here the art of the ventriloquist.

Here the obsession of a kleptomaniac to steal red pushpins.

Here the art of the alibi.

Here one walks into an abandoned farmhouse and hears a

tarantella.

Here one dreamed a bear claw and died.

Here a humpback whale leaped out of the ocean.

Here the outboard motor stopped but a man made it to this

island with one oar.

Here the actor forgot his lines and wept.

Here the art of prayer.

Here marbles, buttons, thimbles, dice, pins, stamps, beads.

Here one becomes terrified.

Here one wants to see as a god sees and becomes clear amber.

Here one is clear pine.

Arthur Sze is the author of eleven books of poetry, including The Glass Constellation (Copper Canyon Press, 2021). He served as a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets from 2012 to 2017.

About Arthur Sze

Themes

Nature

Self

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More by this poet

The Shapes of Leaves

Ginkgo, cottonwood, pin oak, sweet gum, tulip tree:
our emotions resemble leaves and alive
to their shapes we are nourished.

Have you felt the expanse and contours of grief
along the edges of a big Norway maple?
Have you winced at the orange flare

Arthur Sze

1998

Zunis make shrines on the way to a lake where I emerge and Miwoks gather me out of pools along the Pacific the cheetah thirsts for me and when you sprinkle me on rib eye you have no idea how I balance silence with thunder in crystal you dream of butterfly hunting in Madagascar spelunking through caves echoing with dripping stalactites and you don’t see how I yearn to shimmer an orange aurora against flame look at me in your hand in Egypt I scrubbe

Arthur Sze

2021

The Chance

   The blue-black mountains are etched
   with ice. I drive south in fading light.
   The lights of my car set out before
   me, and disappear before my very eyes.
   And as I approach thirty, the distances
   are shorter than I guess? The mind
   travels at the speed of light. But for

Arthur Sze

1998

Poems

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More by this poet

The Shapes of Leaves

Salt Song

The Chance

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