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Authors: Lorine Niedecker

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BOOK: Collecte Works
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If he could come back and see his place

fought over that he'd held apart

he'd say: all my life I saved

now twitter, my heart.

He owned these woods, every board,

till he lost his spring and fall;

if he could say: trees craved for—

overflow to all.

 

 

The music, lady,

you demand—

the brass

breaks my hand.

 

 

For sun and moon and radio

farmers pay dearly;

their natural resource: turn

the world off early.

 

 

She had tumult of the brain

and I had rats in the rain

and she and I and the furlined man

were out for gain.

 

 

My coat threadbare

over and down Capital Hill

fashions mornings after.

In this Eternal Category's

land of rigmarole

see thru the laughter.

 

 

Mr. Van Ess bought 14 washcloths?

Fourteen washrags, Ed Van Ess?

Must be going to give em

to the church, I guess.

He drinks, you know. The day we moved

he came into the kitchen stewed,

mixed things up for my sister Grace—

put the spices in the wrong place.

 

 

Not feeling well, my wood uncut.

                            And why?

The street's bare-legged young girls

       in my eye

with their bottoms out (at home they wear

                                   long robes).

                          My galoshes

                      chopped the cold

till cards in The Moon where I sawed my mouth

                                   to make the bid.

And now my stove's too empty

        to be wife and kid.

 

 

Remember my little granite pail?

The handle of it was blue.

Think what's got away in my life—

Was enough to carry me thru.

 

 

A lawnmower's one of the babies I'd have

if they'd give me a job and I didn't get bombed

in the high grass

by the private woods. Getting so

when I look off my space I see waste

I'd like to mow.

 

 

My man says the wind blows from the south,

      we go out fishing, he has no luck,

      I catch a dozen, that burns him up,

I face the east and the wind's in my mouth,

but my man has to have it in the south.

 

 

Du Bay

He kept a grog shop, this fur trader killer?

Defense: Any fur trader would

to make merchandise go. Moses Strong:

Inquire if the liquor was good.

He called Chief Oshkosh's daughter his wife?

Irrelevant!—John B. Du Bay

shot a man for claiming his land, enough

the possession of real estate.

Witnesses judged him as good as the average

for humanity, honesty, peace.

The court sent him home to his children,

his dogs, his gun, and his geese.

 

 

I'm a sharecropper

down here in the south.

Housing conditions are grave.

We've a few long houses

but most folks, like me,

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