Eve Poem by John Allen
Eve
leaning into the summer evening like
a slick coat of glowing oil,
sliding on skates in greased joy
coating shadows aged so
finely by the stubbled sidewalk
the man fading in sync with
the tired sun, growing dim in
the unmade blanket of deep noon
pallid overtures of escaped words
lost in blistered interruption,
the telephone wires and radio
stations. awkward conversations,
the childlike hunger of
lost hound eyes
strong images but on the wordy side. for me, there was a disconnect between some of the images.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 12:12:11 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I go weak for good portraiture in words. This is such a fine example of that. I sometimes feel that it is an aspect of poetrythat is overlooked. Maybe because it takes a leap of imagination on the part of the reader; I don't know. It seems that the artist who can employ another discipline within their own form of communicating shows a great deal of skill.