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Of “Of Mere Being”

Kurt Luchs

Near the end, the poet sings of a palm
and a mysterious bird made of fire,
both just beyond the reach of his rational mind,

a mind that deals as readily with the duties
of an insurance executive as with
the astonishment of being Wallace Stevens.

Is the strange image of his own making
or is it a final gift from the universe
to its most ardent and articulate admirer?

Either way, he is transfixed with awe, we feel it
in the shortening sentences and the pure wonderment
of the music that emerges only in the last, lovely, unlikely line.

Kurt Luchs

Kurt Luchs