from Debths

A work of art is a world of signs, at least to the poet’s nursery
bookshelf sheltered behind the artist’s ear. I recall each little
motto howling its ins and outs to those of us who might as
well be on the moon illu illu illu


Antique Mirror
Etce ce Tera. Forgotn quiet all. Nobody grows old and crafty
here in middle air together. Long ago ice wraith foliage.
I had such fren


Our mother of puddled images fading away into deep blue polymer.
Seaweed, nets, shells, fish, feathers


Copyright © 2013 by Susan Howe. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on September 19, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

About this Poem

"The prose poems in this series are dedicated to Paul Thek (1933-1988) and Isabella Stewart Gardner (1840-1924). They were inspired by Thek’s recent Retrospective at the Whitney called Diver and a month spent as an artist-in-residence in the Gardner Museum in Boston. Mrs. Gardner may be our first American Installation artist." —Susan Howe