Mark Irwin

Mark Irwin Poems

Sunday mornings I would reach
high into his dark closet while standing
on a chair and tiptoeing reach
higher, touching, sometimes fumbling
...

He wore a little spiraled hat and wrote a song
that everyone sang. He lived on the mountainside
above a lake with a mythical beast he'd subdued.
...

The hummingbird hovers over bougainvillea, darting in and out
of blossoms as the bride throws

her corset among laughter and waving hands. Seeing you, glass in hand, sunlight
...

"The most beautiful bodies are like transparent glass."
They are bodies of the selfless or of those newly
dead. What appears transparent is really flame
burning so brightly it appears like glass. What
...

Mother came to visit today. We
hadn't seen each other in years. Why didn't
you call? I asked. Your windows are filthy, she said. I know,
...

Mark Irwin Biography

Mark Irwin is the author of six collections of poetry, two volumes of translation, and a recently completed book of essays on contemporary American poetry entitled “Monster.” His most recent book is American Urn: New & Selected Poems (1987–2011). He lives in Colorado.)

The Best Poem Of Mark Irwin

My Father's Hats

Sunday mornings I would reach
high into his dark closet while standing
on a chair and tiptoeing reach
higher, touching, sometimes fumbling
the soft crowns and imagine
I was in a forest, wind hymning
through pines, where the musky scent
of rain clinging to damp earth was
his scent I loved, lingering on
bands, leather, and on the inner silk
crowns where I would smell his
hair and almost think I was being
held, or climbing a tree, touching
the yellow fruit, leaves whose scent
was that of clove in the godsome
air, as now, thinking of his fabulous
sleep, I stand on this canyon floor
and watch light slowly close
on water I can't be sure is there.

Mark Irwin Comments

Anil Kumar Panda 20 June 2016

Superb! Thanks for sharing.

0 1 Reply

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