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This blog ran for more than two years with no graphics--and it received about 50 page views. I was advised to add graphics; after seeing the huge public that followed blogs dedicated to homoerotic images, I decided to use that kind. The result was a dramatically increased number of monthly page views, and the number has remained fairly steady. Most of the images were found on the internet; although they are assumed to be in the public domain, they are identified as far as possible. They are exhibited under the Fair Use protections of United States copyright law: their function is simply to attract readers to the poems--I receive no economic benefit from them or from the blog. Nevertheless, they will be removed if they are copyrighted and the owner so desires. 1260 x 290

POEMAS EN ESPAÑOL -- 2009: January 8, April 12, August 3 . . . . 2010: January 13 . . . . 2013: June 30, November 28, December 8 . . . . 2014: September 25, November 30 . . . . 2015: July 9, October 22 . . . . 2016: February 12, August 1, December 28 . . . . 2017: March 2, September 5 . . . . 2018: May 10, July 15, November 3 . . . . 2019: August 4, December 5 . . . . 2020: December 1 . . . . 2021: October 12, December 3 . . . . 2022: April 15, June 21 . . . . 2023: January 3, April 2, May 9, June 6.

Thursday, November 17, 2016

A RIDDLE


Now I am bound taut, drawn down
by those gigantic hands
to the framework that holds me from below. 
The slightest tap upon this rack
can make me quiver into sound.
And when against the cross-pull of the strands
that come and go
I shudder and vibrate,
the whole body of my world resounds.
Yet should I lie slack along all my length
in complete contact with this ground,
nor it nor I would resonate:
there would be no music then.
It is this thing
perversely called a bridge,
that separates
and holds me back
from everything—this hard threshold,
this stumbling block—produces strength,       
gives power to strain,
and makes me sing.
Sometimes so vibrant is the pain
that thrills me through, I know
they are stroking me again
(fingers pressing, probing how
to raise my cries up to a scream)
with that delicate, pitiless bow. 

How they must be enjoying it now. 





(THE STRING OF A FIDDLE)      







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