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Best Famous Heather Mchugh Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Heather Mchugh poems. This is a select list of the best famous Heather Mchugh poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Heather Mchugh poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Heather McHugh poems.

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by Heather McHugh | |

With Due Respect To Thor

 The dog has shrunk between the brake and clutch.
His shaking shakes a two-ton truck.
From a God so furious, he cannot hide his hide.
Outside, in the world at large, black hours are being pearled and shafted.
A tree stands out spectacularly branched; the mind's eye grows alert.
This thing can hurt.
It had us once, it's having volts of big idea again—about thirteen a minute.
Do we need to know more? Are we sure? Just wait—a brain this insecure may need another bolt be driven in it.


by Heather McHugh | |

Stroke

 The literate are ill-prepared for this
snap in the line of life:
the day turns a trick 
of twisted tongues and is
untiable, the month by no mere root
moon-ridden, and the yearly eloquences yielding more
than summer's part of speech times four.
We better learn the buried meaning in the grave: here all we see of its alphabet is tracks of predators, all we know of its tense the slow seconds and quick centuries of sex.
Unletter the past and then the future comes to terms.
One late fall day I stumbled from the study and I found the easy symbols of the living room revised: my shocked senses flocked to the window's reference where now all backyard attitudes were deep in memory: the landscapes I had known too well- the picnic table and the hoe, the tricycle, the stubborn shrub-the homegrown syllables of shapely living-all lay sanded and camelled by foreign snow.
.
.


by Heather McHugh | |

Etymological Dirge

 'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear.
Calm comes from burning.
Tall comes from fast.
Comely doesn't come from come.
Person comes from mask.
The kin of charity is whore, the root of charity is dear.
Incentive has its source in song and winning in the sufferer.
Afford yourself what you can carry out.
A coward and a coda share a word.
We get our ugliness from fear.
We get our danger from the lord.


by Heather McHugh | |

The Father of the Predicaments

 He came at night to each of us asleep
And trained us in the virtues we most lacked.
Me he admonished to return his stare Correctly, without fear.
Unless I could, Unblinking, more and more incline Toward a deep unblinkingness of his, He would not let me rest.
Outside In the dark of the world, at the foot Of the library steps, there lurked A Mercury of rust, its cab half-lit.
(Two worldly forms who huddled there Knew what they meant.
I had no business With the things they knew.
Nor did I feel myself Drawn back through Circulation into Reference, Until I saw how blue I had become, by virtue Of its five TVs, their monitors abuzz with is's Etymologies.
.
.
)


by Heather McHugh | |

Ghazal of the Better-Unbegun

 Too volatile, am I?too voluble?too much a word-person?
I blame the soup:I'm a primordially
stirred person.
Two pronouns and a vehicle was Icarus with wings.
The apparatus of his selves made an ab- surd person.
The sound I make is sympathy's:sad dogs are tied afar.
But howling I become an ever more un- heard person.
I need a hundred more of you to make a likelihood.
The mirror's not convincing-- that at-best in- ferred person.
As time's revealing gets revolting, I start looking out.
Look in and what you see is one unholy blurred person.
The only cure for birth one doesn't love to contemplate.
Better to be an unsung song, an unoc- curred person.
McHugh, you'll be the death of me -- each self and second studied! Addressing you like this, I'm halfway to the third person.