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Marianne Boruch

Poetry

Mar/Apr 2018

Divers on Film

By Marianne Boruch

In real life they mainly danger and disappear, no big deal standing poised over the blue drop, arms out high at world's edge, holding back— not to tempt the dark […]

Poetry

Mar/Apr 2018

Museum Footage, 1945

By Marianne Boruch

After Chechnya, after Stalin's Bykivnia, after ISIS and Boko Haram and the Killing Fields. After Tikrit, Wounded Knee, the great slave uprisings in the South put down relentless. After the […]

Nature's Nature

May/June 2016

We’re Not Insects

By Marianne Boruch

though we keep time, sort of. And make our own white noise. Ask the half-deaf who lean closer, every word bottom of a well, under rock and water and here […]

Nature's Nature

May/June 2016

It Moves

By Marianne Boruch

Late evening. Galileo showing off his telescope again, a ring of murmuring at our window. The very spot, 1611, just— An addiction to marvels, as in maybe now, if only. […]

Poetry

Fall 2006

Studying History

By Marianne Boruch

Not the underwater goggles to seegreat distances, not the let’s pretendof the museum’s “Street of Yesteryear,”its candy’s single stripes in jars, life-sizeddummy at the counter,stiff collar and apron, eyes skewed […]

Poetry

Fall 2006

Hello

By Marianne Boruch

And I look up. But it’s a strangeron a cell phone. A chiming rush of words, her are you sure?and no, don’t tell me that. I’m back to unlockingthe car. […]

Poetry

Spring 2000

Piano Tuning

By Marianne Boruch

Of course, I left it, the tuning hammer on the piano, and walked straight to the kitchen. Left the old guy out there poised, bent over it. Such a private […]

Poetry

Summer 1996

I Paint My Bad Painting

By Marianne Boruch

                  Hawaii, 1993-94 The usual accident—blue wash on red goes purple while swimmers move beyond mein the water, down there against the bay’swhite rush. They prayfor something threatening. I knowthey do. […]

Poetry

Spring 1988

The Flood Plain

By Marianne Boruch

The flood plain began behind that house without a trace of vengeance, just summer growth, the lush everything greenstinging, singing with small metallic life. You could sleepwalk to the river. […]

Poetry

Spring 1988

Perennial Garden

By Marianne Boruch

In the garden, I followed your eye, called them lamb’s ear and primrose, stroked the small alert faces turned up like sparks of a distant moon. And forgot this was […]