Bruce Bond – Lunette 4
Lunette 4 Even the dead feel incomplete and drift through the garden floor like a feeling of displacement or the scent of rain. You know that smell, the way a body knows to end the dream and drink. It knows itself as mostly water and therefore passing through. The breath of millions polishes the wall […]
Bruce Bond’s patmos, Reviewed by David E. Poston
Bruce Bond patmos University of Massachusetts Press Reviewer: David E. Poston Section III of patmos, Bruce Bond’s new book-length poetic sequence, begins: I was just another creature crawling from the mausoleum, and I thought, so this is it, the place in the final chapter where I’m judged for my cruelties, blunders, failures of attention, and […]
Bruce Bond – Cathedral
Cathedral For three days a woman paints her mother in the chill of the funeral parlor, the doll of the mother’s body open-jawed in the long astonishment that overcomes the dying. God is in the small stroke, she says, the unction of the oil, the aromatic solvent that taints the air. She lays the death-mask […]
Bruce Bond – Coyote
Coyote Elegy for W.S. Merwin I knew a man who cut his chest each night to let the animal scamper out, alone, and sniff the corners of the dark, until it had no corner, no harbor, no name, only an aurora of smoke about the creature whose breath shadowed the emptiness, so long as the […]
Bruce Bond – Willow
Willow As a boy, I gazed at the painting of a mountain, and although it did not move, I moved. I touched the diamonds of untouched canvas, extremities of blue in the long unruly hair of the willow where it bathed. It was a portrait of one man’s life alone as a mountain. I love […]
