Monday 5 August 2013

1 Poem by Stephen Page


The weight of grass is heavy
Upon my shoulders; lift it,

Scythe it, mow it, let the cattle
Feed that I may walk again.

I sit upon a log in the shade
Of the wood.  I sip mate.

I visit Buenos Aires and lie
In bed all day and watch cartoons.

I just want to sleep in
One Saturday, one Monday.

I want the Field-Crossers
To stop trampling the grass,

To stop walking across my back
When they think I am napping:

Don’t they know the padlock turns
Are all numbered and recorded?

Editor, Advisor, stop planting corn
When I want my fields clovered.

I want again my daily strolls
In the quiet of the Wood,

To watch for hours the bumblebees work
And lock eyes with the mockingbird.


Stephen Page was born in Detroit, Michigan.  He holds two AA’s from Palomar College, a BA from Columbia University, and an MFA from Bennington College.  He is the author of The Timbre of Sand and Still Dandelions.  His critical essays have appeared regularly in the Buenos Aires Herald.  He is the recipient of The Jess Cloud Memorial Prize, a Writer-in-Residence with stipend from the Montana Artists Refuge, a Writer Fellowship from the Vermont Studio Center, an Imagination Grant from Cleveland State University, a Golden Poet Award, and an Arvon Foundation Ltd. Grant. He currently lives in Argentina where he teaches World literature and writes on a ranch.

1 comment: