Jon Corelis was born in California and grew up in and around Chicago, where he earned a degree in Classical Languages and Literatures at the College of the University of Chicago. He later took a doctorate in Classics at Stanford, and taught Classics and Humanities at Stanford, the University of California, and the University of Minnesota. After a subsequent career as a software specialist in Silicon Valley, he moved to Northeastern Wisconsin.
His poetry, criticism, and reviews have been published in Poetry Greece (Corfu) , Tundra (Foster City, California) , Chapman (Edinburgh) , The Dark Horse (Ayrshire, Scotland and Hastings on Hudson, New York) , Acumen (Brixham, ... more »
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Jon Corelis Poems
1 Love has come at last, and such a love as I should be more shamed to hide than to reveal.
After a painting by William Buxton
Gender Studies “Man: an objective subject. Woman: a subjective object.
Sometimes it comes on red: the animal is angry and astonished, tasting blood, or orange, like a sunset you can taste,
You've got to start out from wherever you are, to arrive at the end of the road which has led you to where you are now. Those island dreams, of the barebreasted virgins who sang with skulls at their feet, and the dangerous craft of the witch,
Today her silks scatter crackling arabesques in the shimmering air today she'll dazzle the casual eye with her sweet metallic gleam today she waddles, awkward as a cow today she packs a punch like a fresh shot arrow
Archilochus: The Shield (From The Gree...
I jettisoned my gear when I ran from the recent strife, so I'm out the price of a shield: not much to pay for your life.
Now we must part, my sweet Ilona: I must leave for Barcelona,
The Marquis de Sade
The Marquis de Sade was decidedly odd. He provides some diversion if you share his perversion.
Three score and ten – and then?
excuse me I'm looking for I can't quite recall the name but he lives at
The man and the woman
A man and a woman walk through a ruined house the man breaks the last fractured sherds of glass from a window
When I saw my obituary in the paper this morning I went down to the indicated funeral home and found there only an open and empty coffin on a stand, no mourners, no flowers, no organ:
California spring at the end of the twentieth century: the sun is chill and warm like Chardonnay; from the news box windows in front of the Whole Foods Market headlines recount why people are blown to bits.
Comments about Jon Corelis
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Love has come at last, and such a love as I
should be more shamed to hide than to reveal.
Cytherea, yielding to my Muse’s prayers,
has brought him here and laid him in my arms.
Venus has kept her promise. Let people talk, who never
themselves have found such joys as now are mine.
I wish that I could send my tablets to my love
unsealed, not caring who might read them first.
The sin is sweet, to mask it for fear of shame is bitter.
I’m proud we’ve joined, each worthy of the other.
My hateful birthday’s come, which must be ...