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The Problem with This Poem.

 This poem will not invent anyone.
Not a woman hiding
from a storm under a bridge,
not a man standing
alone at the edge of a field,
his family in the stone house beyond.
This poem will not reinvent the field
as if nature cared and were necessary to it,
or vice-versa. This poem will not deny pain,
but neither is pain its essential condition,
the way sky is essential condition,
the way sky is essential to rain.
What happens in that house,
what happens in the nebulae,
happens very far away.
What happens under the skin
happens very far away.
This is the reason the poem exists,
if you can call it existence,
its solitary slow being that denies
our solitary slow moving,
that defies time and language
the way corn defies weather
all night under the stars
and then, when it must, yields.
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Author:Rubin, Stan Sanvel
Publication:Atlanta Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Mar 22, 2019
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