One Man's Dark. Maurice Manning

One Man's Dark - Maurice Manning


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      Thank you. We hope you enjoy these poems.

       This e-book edition was created through a special grant provided by the Paul G. Allen Family Foundation. Copper Canyon Press would like to thank Constellation Digital Services for their partnership in making this e-book possible.

       This book is for MLPS, my love and light.

      I will sing for my beloved my love-song about his vineyard...

      Isaiah 5:1

      Contents

       Title Page

       Note to Reader

       Dedication

       The Pinch

       Passion

       The Glass Eye

       Chapel on the Way to Hobo Town

       No. 9 Wire

       Sleep

       The Man in the Country of His Dream

       Modernity

       Bridge on Unnamed Branch of Big Goose Creek

       A Field of Tiger Lilies in Kentucky

       Culture

       Coming down through the Woods after a Rain

       Something to Say about Possums

       The Geography of Yonder

       Funeral, Country Church, beside a Stream in Old Kentucky

       Theology

       Symbolism

       Going Back to Bimble

       Evangelism

       Birds Arriving in Dim Light

       Justice

       Provincial Thought

       An Apparition

       Patch of Light in Deep Woods

       Southern City Poem, Early ’70s

       Amid the Flood of Mortal Ills Prevailing

       Obedience

       The Mark on the Wall

       The Woodcock

       The Gods

       Old-Time Kentucky Salt-Kettle Dream

       A Dream with Old Men inside It

       Grammar

       Hill Philosophy

       Winter Work

       Another River Still

       A Portion of the Cosmos in Kentucky

       The Wash

       Fog over Beech Fork Valley

       Sunday School

       The Beginning

       Slow Class, Sixth Grade

       The Foster Boy

       Stream at Night

       Cathedral up on Posey Ridge

       The Watching Tree

       Acknowledgments

       About the Author

       Also by Maurice Manning

       Copyright

       Special thanks

      Here in Kentucky, a world and, yet,

      a second, unknowable world are drawn

      almost together between God’s thumb

      and famous, animating finger.

      It’s a tight place, but I’ve seen it —

      believe me, I see it every day.

      I even go down to it, back

      in the woods behind the hill where the land

      goes down below the green knob

      to rest in the still dark, as if

      that place is a room with something left

      inside it. How a room, even

      this one that has no walls and the mere

      pitch of the sky for a makeshift,

      homely roof, must be a place

      where some existence shows its proof.

      What it is is like a voice

      that sounded itself from silence once,

      and every sound since then has been

      an echo and echoes of the voice.

      Why wouldn’t I believe a kind

      of unexpected heaven here

      comes close, why wouldn’t I believe

      in the complicated beauty of once?

      It’s how we get a circle drawn

      around


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