Home ⇒ 📌Philip Levine ⇒ Something Has Fallen
Something Has Fallen
Something has fallen wordlessly
And holds still on the black driveway.
You find it, like a jewel,
Among the empty bottles and cans
Where the dogs toppled the garbage.
You pick it up, not sure
If it is stone or wood
Or some new plastic made
To replace them both.
When you raise your sunglasses
To see exactly what you have
You see it is only a shadow
That has darkened your fingers,
A black ink or oil,
And your hand suddenly smells
Of c1assrooms when the rain
Pounded the windows and you
Shuddered thinking of the cold
And the walk back to an empty house.
You smell all of your childhood,
The damp bed you struggled from
To dress in half-light and go out
Into a world that never tired.
Later, your hand thickened and flat
Slid out of a rubber glove,
As you stood, your mask raised,
To light a cigarette
While the acid tanks that were
Yours to dean went on bathing
The arteries of broken sinks.
Remember, you were afraid
Of the great hissing jugs.
There were stories of burnings,
Of flesh shredded to lace.
On other nights men spoke
Of rats as big as dogs.
Women spoke of men
Who trapped them in corners.
Always there was grease that hid
The faces of worn faucets, grease
That had to be eaten one
Finger-print at a time,
There was oil, paint, blood,
Your own blood sliding across
Your nose and running over
Your lips with that bright, certain
Taste that was neither earth
Or air, and there was air,
The darkest element of all,
Falling all night
Into the bruised river
You slept beside, falling
Into the glass of water
You filled two times for breakfast
And the eyes you turned upward
To see what time it was.
Air that stained everything
With its millions of small deaths,
That turned all five fingers
To grease or black ink or ashes.
(2 votes, average: 2.50 out of 5)Related poetry:
- Fallen Majesty Although crowds gathered once if she but showed her face, And even old men’s eyes grew dim, this hand alone, Like some last courtier at a gypsy camping-place Babbling of fallen majesty, records what’s gone. These lineaments, a heart that laughter has made sweet, These, these remain, but I record what’s gone. A crowd Will […]...
- For the Fallen With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, England mourns for her dead across the sea. Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit, Fallen in the cause of the free. Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres, There is music in the midst of desolation […]...
- Rain Has Fallen All the Day Rain has fallen all the day. O come among the laden trees: The leaves lie thick upon the way Of memories. Staying a little by the way Of memories shall we depart. Come, my beloved, where I may Speak to your heart....
- I have fallen into unconsciousness I have got out of my own control, I have fallen into unconsciousness; in my utter unconsciousness how joyful I am with myself! The darling sewed up my eyes so that I might not see other than him, so that suddenly I opened my eyes on his face. My soul fought with me saying, “Do […]...
- After Us I don’t know if we’re in the beginning Or in the final stage. Tomas Tranströmer Rain is falling through the roof. And all that prospered under the sun, The books that opened in the morning And closed at night, and all day Turned their pages to the light; The sketches of boats and strong forearms […]...
- Fallen Leaves Why should I be the first to fall Of all the leaves on this old tree? Though sadly soon I know that all Will lose their hold and follow me. While my birth-brothers bravely blow, Why should I be first to go? Why should I be the last to cling Of all the leaves on […]...
- The Fallen Angels They come on to my clean Sheet of paper and leave a Rorschach blot. They do not do this to be mean, They do it to give me a sign They want me, as Aubrey Beardsley once said, To shove it around till something comes. Clumsy as I am, I do it. For I am […]...
- Ode in Memory of the American Volunteers Fallen for France I Ay, it is fitting on this holiday, Commemorative of our soldier dead, When with sweet flowers of our New England May Hiding the lichened stones by fifty years made gray Their graves in every town are garlanded, That pious tribute should be given too To our intrepid few Obscurely fallen here beyond the seas. […]...
- I stood musing in a black world I stood musing in a black world, Not knowing where to direct my feet. And I saw the quick stream of men Pouring ceaselessly, Filled with eager faces, A torrent of desire. I called to them, “Where do you go? What do you see?” A thousand voices called to me. A thousand fingers pointed. “Look! […]...
- To A Fallen Elm Old Elm that murmured in our chimney top The sweetest anthem autumn ever made And into mellow whispering calms would drop When showers fell on thy many coloured shade And when dark tempests mimic thunder made While darkness came as it would strangle light With the black tempest of a winter night That rocked thee […]...
- Sleepyheads SLEEP is a maker of makers. Birds sleep. Feet cling to a perch. Look at the balance. Let the legs loosen, the backbone untwist, the head go heavy over, the whole works tumbles a done bird off the perch. Fox cubs sleep. The pointed head curls round into hind legs and tail. It is a […]...
- Making Light Of It I call out a secret name, the name Of the angel who guards my sleep, And light grows in the east, a new light Like no other, as soft as the petals Of the blown rose in late summer. Yes, it is late summer in the West. Even the grasses climbing the Sierras Reach for […]...
- On a Soldier Fallen in the Philippines Streets of the roaring town, Hush for him, hus, be still! He comes, who was stricken down Doing the word of our will. Hush! Let him have his state, Give him his soldier’s crown. The grists of trade can wait Their grinding at the mill, But he cannot wait for his honor, now the trumpet […]...
- On On yardbird corners of embryonic hopes, drowned in a heroin tear. On yardbird corners of parkerflights to sound filled pockets in space. On neuro-corners of striped brains & desperate electro-surgeons. On alcohol corners of pointless discussion & historical hangovers. On television corners of cornflakes & rockwells impotent America. On university corners of tailored intellect & […]...
- The Author Of The Jesus Papers Speaks In my dream I milked a cow, The terrible udder Like a great rubber lily Sweated in my fingers And as I yanked, Waiting for the moon juice, Waiting for the white mother, Blood spurted from it And covered me with shame. Then God spoke to me and said: People say only good things about […]...
- Halsted Street Car COME you, cartoonists, Hang on a strap with me here At seven o’clock in the morning On a Halsted street car. Take your pencils And draw these faces. Try with your pencils for these crooked faces, That pig-sticker in one corner his mouth That overall factory girl her loose cheeks. Find for your pencils A […]...
- Told The air lay soffly on the green fur Of the almond, it was April And I said, I begin again But my hands burned in the damp earth The light ran between my fingers A black light like no other This was not home, the linnet Settling on the oleander The green pod swelling The […]...
- The Rainwalkers An old man whose black face Shines golden-brown as wet pebbles Under the streetlamp, is walking two mongrel dogs of dis- Proportionate size, in the rain, In the relaxed early-evening avenue. The small sleek one wants to stop, Docile to the imploring soul of the trashbasket, But the young tall curly one Wants to walk […]...
- The Touch For months my hand was sealed off In a tin box. Nothing was there but the subway railings. Perhaps it is bruised, I thought, And that is why they have locked it up. You could tell time by this, I thought, Like a clock, by its five knuckles And the thin underground veins. It lay […]...
- The Gardener XLII: O Mad, Superbly Drunk O mad, superbly drunk; If you kick open your doors and Play the fool in public; If you empty your bag in a night, And snap your fingers at prudence; If you walk in curious paths and Play with useless things; Reck not rhyme or reason; If unfurling your sails before the Storm you snap […]...
- Eating Poetry Ink runs from the corners of my mouth. There is no happiness like mine. I have been eating poetry. The librarian does not believe what she sees. Her eyes are sad And she walks with her hands in her dress. The poems are gone. The light is dim. The dogs are on the basement stairs […]...
- Daybreak In Alabama When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music about Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest songs in it Rising out of the ground like a swamp mist And falling out of heaven like soft dew. I’m gonna put some tall tall trees in it And the scent […]...
- Cinema Screen Light’s patterns freeze: Frost on our faces. Light’s pollen sifts Through the lids of our eyes… Light sinks and rusts In water; is broken By glass… rests On deserted dust. Light lies like torn Paper in corners: A rock-pool’s pledge Of the sea’s return. Light, wrenched at the edges By wind, looks down At itself […]...
- Go, Little Book – The Ancient Phrase GO, little book – the ancient phrase And still the daintiest – go your ways, My Otto, over sea and land, Till you shall come to Nelly’s hand. How shall I your Nelly know? By her blue eyes and her black brow, By her fierce and slender look, And by her goodness, little book! What […]...
- Don Juan Under the lips and limbs, the embraces, faces, Under the sharp circumference, the brightness, Under the fence of shadows, Is something I am seeking; Under the faces a face, Under the new an old or a not-yet-come-to; Under the voices a peace. Am I a darkness all your flames must light? A mirror all your […]...
- The Red Dance There was a girl Who danced in the city that night, That April 22nd, All along the Charles River. It was as if one hundred men were watching Or do I mean the one hundred eyes of God? The yellow patches in the sycamores Glowed like miniature flashlights. The shadows, the skin of them Were […]...
- In The New Sun Filaments of light Slant like windswept rain. The orange seller hawks Into the sky, a man with a hat Stops below my window And shakes his tassels. Awake In Tetuan, the room filling With the first colors, and water running In a tub. * A row of sparkling carp Iced in the new sun, odor […]...
- A Fallen Leaf A trusting little leaf of green, A bold audacious frost; A rendezvous, a kiss or two, And youth for ever lost. Ah, me! The bitter, bitter cost. A flaunting patch of vivid red, That quivers in the sun; A windy gust, a grave of dust, The little race is run. Ah, me! Were that the […]...
- Father The long lines of diesels Groan toward evening Carrying off the breath Of the living. The face of your house Is black, It is your face, black And fire bombed In the first street wars, A black tooth planted in the earth Of Michigan And bearing nothing, And the earth is black, Sick on used […]...
- On a Tree Fallen Across the Road (To hear us talk) The tree the tempest with a crash of wood Throws down in front of us is not bar Our passage to our journey’s end for good, But just to ask us who we think we are Insisting always on our own way so. She likes to halt us in our runner […]...
- A Proud Lady Hate in the world’s hand Can carve and set its seal Like the strong blast of sand Which cuts into steel. I have seen how the finger of hate Can mar and mould Faces burned passionate And frozen cold. Sorrowful faces worn As stone with rain, Faces writhing with scorn And sullen with pain. But […]...
- KINDERGARTEN PORTRAIT OF MY MOTHER AT MARDI GRAS She looks rather pathetic, really, Leaning against the black air, The three mangled fingers of her left hand Clutching a yellow purse, Her right arm raised over her head As if to shield herself From the silver shower of stars Raining down upon her. Her mouth is a crack Growing beneath her nose. Two dimples […]...
- Absence My cup is empty to-night, Cold and dry are its sides, Chilled by the wind from the open window. Empty and void, it sparkles white in the moonlight. The room is filled with the strange scent Of wistaria blossoms. They sway in the moon’s radiance And tap against the wall. But the cup of my […]...
- Mending Wall Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it And spills the upper boulder in the sun, And make gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, […]...
- Forgotten Language Once I spoke the language of the flowers, Once I understood each word the caterpillar said, Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings, And shared a conversation with the housefly In my bed. Once I heard and answered all the questions Of the crickets, And joined the crying of each falling […]...
- The Woman At The Washington Zoo The saris go by me from the embassies. Cloth from the moon. Cloth from another planet. They look back at the leopard like the leopard. And I. . . . this print of mine, that has kept its color Alive through so many cleanings; this dull null Navy I wear to work, and wear from […]...
- Shadow March All around the house is the jet-black night; It stares through the window-pane; It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light, And it moves with the moving flame. Now my little heart goes a beating like a drum, With the breath of the Bogies in my hair; And all around the candle and the […]...
- An Arundel Tomb Side by side, their faces blurred, The earl and countess lie in stone, Their proper habits vaguely shown As jointed armour, stiffened pleat, And that faint hint of the absurd – The little dogs under their feet. Such plainness of the pre-baroque Hardly involves the eye, until It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still Clasped empty […]...
- Jigsaw Puzzles and You There were long hyphens in our day- When no one spoke; no one exhaled As we contemplated the broken puzzles- The broken tiles all over the floor Some might have called us mad- Insane – in this ceramic nightmare Of yoga knees and bloody feet- Empty bottles scattered on a garden mat And still we […]...
- Sonnet 104 – A spot of poontang on a five-foot piece A spot of poontang on a five-foot piece, Diminutive, but room enough. . like clay To finger eager on some torrid day. . Who’d throw her black hair back, and hang, and tease. Never, not once in all one’s horny lease To’have had a demi-lay, a pretty, gay, Snug, slim and supple-breasted girl for play. […]...