Easy

The poet pauses
near the end. ‘Of itself/age
has no pull.’ The job?

‘To call it a day.’
You are at the end of your
rope. Words, words, the rest

just words, excess of
language. The silence beyond
you would have a word.

‘Be easy.’ Who said
that? Sir Geoffrey Hill? He dead,
has called it a day.

This poem refers to (glosses?) Geoffrey Hill, The Orchards of Syon, XXXii.

Author: Tom D'Evelyn

Tom D'Evelyn is a private editor and writing tutor in Cranston RI and, thanks to the web, across the US and in the UK. He can be reached at tom.develyn@comcast.net. D'Evelyn has a PhD in Comparative Literature from UC Berkeley. Before retiring he held positions at The Christian Science Monitor, Harvard University Press, Boston University and Brown University. He ran a literary agency for ten years, publishing books by Leonard Nathan and Arthur Quinn, among others. Before moving to Portland OR he was managing editor at Single Island Press, Portsmouth NH. He blogs at http://tdevelyn.com and other sites.

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