Jeremy Radin, from "Lazar Wolf the Butcher" (poem written during staging of Fiddler on the Roof at Paper Mill Playhouse, shared on his IG page) [ID'd]
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sad by Jeremy Radin
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Evening
by Jeremy Radin
Another word I love is evening
for the balance it implies, balance
being something I struggle with.
I suppose I would like to be more
a planet, turning in & out of light
It comes down again to polarities,
equilibrium. Evening. The moths
take the place of the butterflies,
owls the place of hawks, coyotes
for dogs, stillness for business,
& the great sorrow of brightness
makes way for its own sorrow.
Everything dances with its strict
negation, & I like that. I have no
choice but to like that. Systems
are evening out all around us—
even now, as we kneel before
a new & ruthless circumstance.
Where would I like to be in five
years, someone asks—& what
can I tell them? Surrendering
with grace to the evening, with
as much grace as I can muster
to the circumstance of darkness,
which is only something else
that does not stay.
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Jeremy Radin, “Day’s End”
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Part V: 15 More Favourite Poems
I Bargained with Life for a Penny, by Jessie B. Rittenhouse
Rain, by Raymond Carver
Poems from Dear Sal, by Jeremy Radin
Starlings in Winter, and
In Blackwater Woods, by Mary Oliver
Two Insomnias, and
Let the Lover Be, and
Without Cause, by Rumi
Life, by Charlotte Brontë
Spring and Fall, by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Departure, by Louise Glück
A Man Said to the Universe, by Stephen Crane
Short Song, by Justin Quinn
A Shropshire Lad XL, by A.E. Houseman
Idyll, by Siegfried Sassoon
See also Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four
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Jeremy Radin - Lazar Wolf the Butcher
Hope is humiliating & exhausting.
The soul is humiliating & exhausting.
The body is both but louder.
They call it longing because it takes forever.
On account of that smell, says my towering
phantom, I shall not bear your children.
Fair enough.
For half a century I put my faith in a stone
slicked with water. I read the innards
like a weaker man reads a book.
In a sterile dream you return to my house.
She will not, you say, on account of why would she.
&—you arrived too late to your own life.
&—your heart is sinking like a coin in the mud.
&—you will be the last ox you open.
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-- jeremy radin
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Why the great silence
I scream at the cattle
turning their circles
in the field of asters
Why the great silence
moo for me my mournful
choir I demand the mooing
asters sticking up
between my toes
and now I am climbing
a tall aster to the sun why
the great silence the aster
grows from under
my solitude so thin so thin
the cattle watching
they say nothing the cattle
eating asters passing grief
from one stomach to the other
like a fad between
generations hand over hand
I go up the aster
with my stolen milk from one
great silence to the next
like an aster between
the stomachs of a cow
and arriving at the great silence
I am welcomed
not as a friend but as
a double over the cattle
over the asters over
the field of all my failed little songs
Jeremy Radin, Why The Great Silence.
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Jeremy Radin
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Evening
Jeremy Radin
Another word I love is evening
for the balance it implies, balance
being something I struggle with.
I suppose I would like to be more
a planet, turning in & out of light
It comes down again to polarities,
equilibrium. Evening. The moths
take the place of the butterflies,
owls the place of hawks, coyotes
for dogs, stillness for business,
& the great sorrow of brightness
makes way for its own sorrow.
Everything dances with its strict
negation, & I like that. I have no
choice but to like that. Systems
are evening out all around us—
even now, as we kneel before
a new & ruthless circumstance.
Where would I like to be in five
years, someone asks—& what
can I tell them? Surrendering
with grace to the evening, with
as much grace as I can muster
to the circumstance of darkness,
which is only something else
that does not stay.
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— Jeremy Radin, “The Slug”
[Text ID: The Slug // Across the concrete planter, through pools / of false moonlight, the slug— // glides. Makes for itself a river beneath / the soft boat of its body, vanishes // in the lantana. Along its back / a code, a secret // plan for helicopters, clue / about forgotten medicines. Intelligence // of slime, which is my intelligence. We are / siblings in the velvet heart.]
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Jeremy Radin, excerpt from Dear Sal [ID in ALT]
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I believe in everything except my death- what then do I worship
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Day’s End by Jeremy Radin
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Jeremy Radin, from “Beloved”
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This poem….
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