Randall Jarrell

(May 6, 1914 – October 14, 1965 / Nashville)

The Woman At The Washington Zoo


The saris go by me from the embassies.

Cloth from the moon. Cloth from another planet.
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  • Freshman - 1,537 Points John Richter (11/3/2014 2:44:00 PM)

    He had me right up until take the red helmet off. I thought everything up to that point superbly written and recognized. But then the last bit; No longer a sailor or worker in faded navy work clothes, he somehow morphed into some unrecognizable being shadowed by the wings of some other being we can not fathom. If modern poetry is but senseless words, then I do not care for it. I have sat in the wings too long, and have seen senselessness praised as though some great art form. Alas, I do not see the merit of Picasso either. It's all nonsense to me. The king is naked, and sometimes I fear only I can see. Perhaps I am the fool incapable of siing it. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 785 Points Lamont Palmer (11/3/2013 2:44:00 AM)

    Such a great poem by the greatest critic of the 20th century. If one wants to learn to write competent poetry, this man is the one to read and study; not just his poems but the provocative things he says about poems. -LP (Report) Reply

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