Erica Jong

(26 March 1942 / New York City)

Erica Jong Poems

1. A Bespectacled Artist Called Lear 2/3/2015
2. The Woman Of It 3/28/2012
3. You Operate 3/28/2012
4. You Whom I Hoped To Reach By Writing 3/28/2012
5. To James Boswell In London 3/28/2012
6. To Jon In October 3/28/2012
7. To X. (With Ephemeral Kisses) 3/28/2012
8. Touch 3/28/2012
9. What You Need To Be A Writer 3/28/2012
10. The Book With Four Backs 3/28/2012
11. The Ecological Apocalypse 3/28/2012
12. For Howard Moss 3/28/2012
13. Here Comes 3/28/2012
14. His Silence 3/28/2012
15. I Sleep With 3/28/2012
16. The Keys 3/28/2012
17. Her Broom, Or The Ride Of The Witch 3/28/2012
18. The Long Tunnel Of Wanting You 3/28/2012
19. Mute Marriages 3/28/2012
20. On Reading A Vast Anthology 3/28/2012
21. The Other Side Of The Page 3/28/2012
22. Playing With The Boys 3/28/2012
23. Poem For Molly's Fortieth Birthday 3/28/2012
24. Poem To Kabir 3/28/2012
25. The Perfect Poet 3/28/2012
26. The Poet As A Feeler Of Pain 3/28/2012
27. Sailing Home 3/28/2012
28. Regret For Mimi Bailin 3/28/2012
29. She Leaps 3/28/2012
30. Statue 3/28/2012
31. Time Leak 3/28/2012
32. I Try To Keep 3/28/2012
33. The Man Giving Birth In The Dark 3/28/2012
34. If God Is A Dog 3/28/2012
35. Insomnia & Poetry 3/28/2012
36. For Molly, Concerning God 3/28/2012
37. Venice, November, 1966 3/28/2012
38. Walking Through The Upper East Side 3/28/2012
39. The Sheets 3/28/2012
40. To Pablo Neruda 3/28/2012
Best Poem of Erica Jong

Letter To My Lover After Seven Years

You gave me the child
that seamed my belly
& stitched up my life.

You gave me: one book of love poems,
five years of peace
& two of pain.

You gave me darkness, light, laughter
& the certain knowledge
that we someday die.

You gave me seven years
during which the cells of my body
died & were reborn.

Now we have died
into the limbo of lost loves,
that wreckage of memories
tarnishing with time,
that litany of losses
which grows longer with the years,
as more of our friends
descend underground
& the list of our loved ...

Read the full of Letter To My Lover After Seven Years

We Learned

The decorum of fire...
-- Pablo Neruda

We learned the decorum of fire,
the flame's curious symmetry,
the blue heat at the center of the thighs,
the flickering red of the hips,
& the tallow gold of the breasts
lit from within

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