Alcove by John Ashbery

Is it possible that spring could be once more approaching? We forget each time what a mindless business it is, porous like sleep, adrift on the horizon, refusing to take sides, “mugwump of the final hour,” lest an agenda—horrors!—be imputed to it, and the whole point of its being spring collapse like a hole dugContinue reading “Alcove by John Ashbery”

At North Farm by John Ashbery

Somewhere someone is traveling furiously toward you, At incredible speed, traveling day and night,Through blizzards and desert heat, across torrents, through narrow passes.But will he know where to find you,Recognize you when he sees you,Give you the thing he has for you? Hardly anything grows here, Yet the granaries are bursting with meal, The sacksContinue reading “At North Farm by John Ashbery”