Audiblē atradu tādu The New Yorker: Poetry podkāstu. Man tāda sajūta it kā es būtu uzgājusi zelta rūdu. Pagaidām mana mīļākā sērija ir 27. nov. 2024. ar Reju Armantroutu. Oouuuu, mums ir vienādi vārdi.

Rae Armantrout joins Kevin Young to read “Mother,” by Dorothea Lasky, and her own poem “Finally.” Armantrout’s many books include “Go Figure,” “Finalists,” “Conjure,” and “Wobble.” Her collection “Versed” won a National Book Critics Circle Award and the 2010 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.

Mother
By Dorothea Lasky
October 14, 2024

Mother I went in the rose garden
In the middle of the night
To find the things I lost there
Mother I searched for you
For seven nights
And could not find you
They left your perfume everywhere
A kind of toying aspect
And scratched your picture
With their talons
I replaced it
Despite their anger
And still got up in the morning
To feed the babies
Their first meal
Mother I wore a lilac dress
And stepped through the thistle
The alligators had already overtaken
The endless landscape
Your body was somewhere there
And it was my job to bury it
In my head your voice rang out
With the strangest aroma
The gods had left you in the rose garden
Mother I went in before dawn to find you
I didn’t know they left
So many noxious animals
There to hurt me
Terrible fear upon fear
Mother I was motherless
So I became myself finally
I wandered in the endless garden
To find something I had lost
When I finally gave up
Mother the roses they overtook me
I filled with vines and lead
I waited two hundred years
Mother I waited there forever
Searching and searching
Mother until they let you in again