Hayden Carruth Poems
|3.||The Cows at Night||3/25/2016|
|4.||Bears at Raspberry Time||11/17/2015|
|5.||Letter To Denise||1/30/2015|
|6.||Notes On Poverty||1/10/2015|
|9.||The Way Of The Coventicle Of The Trees||1/13/2003|
|10.||Something For The Trade||1/13/2003|
|11.||Poem Catching Up With An Idea||1/13/2003|
|13.||At Seventy-Five: Rereading An Old Book||1/13/2003|
|14.||Words In A Certain Appropriate Mode||1/13/2003|
|16.||Onondaga, Early December||1/13/2003|
|20.||The Afterlife: Letter To Sam Hamill||1/13/2003|
|22.||When I Wrote A Little||1/13/2003|
|23.||Saturday At The Border||1/13/2003|
|24.||Scrambled Eggs And Whiskey||1/13/2003|
|25.||On Being Asked To Write A Poem Against The War In Vietnam||1/13/2003|
|26.||I, I, I||1/13/2003|
I, I, I
First, the self. Then, the observing self.
The self that acts and the self that watches. This
The starting point, the place where the mind begins,
Whether the mind of an individual or
The mind of a species. When I was a boy
I struggled to understand. For if I know
The self that watches, another watching self
Must see the watcher, then another watching that,
Another and another, and where does it end?
So my mother sent me to the barber shop,
My first time, to get my hair "cut for a part"
(Instead of the dutch boy she'd always given me),
As I was instructed to...
Coming home with the last load I ride standing
on the wagon tongue, behind the tractor
in hot exhaust, lank with sweat,
my arms strung
awkwardly along the hayrack, cruciform.
Almost 5OO bales we've put up