\u201cDear John,<\/p>\n
I recently read a children\u2019s book,\u00a0A River of Words,\u00a0about William Carlos Williams, the pediatrician and poet who wrote and administered to families in my hometown of Rutherford, New Jersey. His son also followed his father in a medical career and was my pediatrician. It turns out that Williams, despite fragile health\u00a0in his later years, mentored younger poets at his home. One of them was Denise\u00a0Levertov, a favorite of yours.<\/p>\n
George\u201d<\/p>\n
William Carlos Williams:\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0The Manoeuvre<\/strong><\/p>\n I saw the two starlings turned in the air together William Carlos Williams Denise Levertov:\u00a0 The Poem Rising By Its Own Weight<\/strong> The singing robes fly onto your body and cling there silkily, And seize the fiery knives unscathed and And proudly let the chains but when your graceful Denise Levertov Friday, February 8, 2019 \u201cIt turns out that Williams, despite fragile health\u00a0in his later years, mentored younger poets at his home. One of them was Denise\u00a0Levertov, a favorite of yours.\u201d \u00a0 George Danko to jstsj \u00a0May 22, 2018 George \u00a0and … Continue reading
\ncoming in toward the wires
\nBut at the last,
\njust before alighting, they<\/p>\n
\nand landed backwards!
\nthat\u2019s what got me \u2014
\nto face into the wind\u2019s teeth.<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/sites.udmercy.edu\/poetry\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/170\/2014\/04\/William-Carlos-Williams.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n
\nSeptember 17, 1883 \u2013 March 4, 1963
\nhttps:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/William_Carlos_Williams<\/a><\/p>\n
\n<\/strong>\u2018The poet is at the disposal of his own night.’
\nJean Cocteau<\/p>\n
\nYou step out on the rope and move unfalteringly across it,<\/p>\n
\nKeep them spinning above you, a fountain
\nOf rhythmic rising, falling, rising
\nFlames,<\/p>\n
\nBe wound about you, ready
\nTo shed them, link by steel link,
\npadlock by padlock\u2013<\/p>\n
\nconfident shrug and twist drives the metal
\ninto your flesh and the python grip of it tightens
\nand you see rust on the chains and blood in your pores
\nand you roll
\nover and down a steepness into a dark hole
\nand there is not even the sound of mockery in the distant air
\nsomewhere above you where the sky was,
\nno sound but your own breath panting:
\nthen it is that the miracle
\nwalks in, on his swift feet,
\ndown the precipice straight into the cave,
\nopens the locks,
\nknots of chain fall open,
\ntwists of chain unwind themselves,
\nlinks fall asunder,
\nin seconds there is a heap of scrap-
\nmetal at your ankles, you step free and at once
\nhe turns to go \u2014
\nbut as you catch at him with a cry,
\nclasping his knees, sobbing your gratitude,
\nwith what radiant joy he turns to you,
\nand raises you to your feet,
\nand strokes your disheveled hair,
\nand holds you,
\nholds you,
\nholds you
\nclose and tenderly before he vanishes.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\nb. October 1923 \u00a0d. December 1997<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"