<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=452623" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Visiting a Dead Man on a Summer Day</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In flat America, in Chicago, <br>Graceland cemetery on the German North Side. <br>Forty feet of Corinthian candle <br>celebrate Pullman embedded <br>lonely raisin in a cake of concrete. <br>The Potter Palmers float <br>in an island parthenon. <br>Barons of hogfat, railroads and wheat <br>are postmarked with angels and lambs. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the Getty tomb: white, snow patterned <br>in a triangle of trees swims dappled with leaf shadow, <br>sketched light arch within arch <br>delicate as fingernail moons. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The green doors should not be locked. <br>Doors of fern and flower should not be shut. <br>Louis Sullivan, I sit on your grave. <br>It is not now good weather for prophets.<br>Sun eddies on the steelsmoke air like sinking honey. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the inner green door of the Getty tomb <br>(a thighbone's throw from your stone) <br>a marvel of growing, blooming, thrusting into seed: <br>how all living wreathe and insinuate <br>in the circlet of repetition that never repeats: <br>ever new birth never rebirth. <br>Each tide pool microcosm spiraling from your hand. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sullivan, you had another five years <br>when your society would give you work. <br>Thirty years with want crackling in your hands. <br>Thirty after years with cities <br>flowering and turning grey in your beard. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">All poets are unemployed nowadays. <br>My country marches in its sleep. <br>The past structures a heavy mausoleum <br>hiding its iron frame in masonry. <br>Men burn like grass <br>while armies grow. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thirty years in the vast rumbling gut <br>of this society you stormed <br>to be used, screamed <br>no louder than any other breaking voice. <br>The waste of a good man <br>bleeds the future that's come <br>in Chicago, in flat America, <br>where the poor still bleed from the teeth, <br>housed in sewers and filing cabinets, <br>where prophets may spit into the wind <br>till anger sleets their eyes shut, <br>where this house that dances the seasons <br>and the braid of all living <br>and the joy of a man making his new good thing <br>is strange, irrelevant as a meteor, <br>in Chicago, in flat America <br>in this year of our burning.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Marge+Piercy">Marge Piercy</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=452623" data-title="Visiting a Dead Man on a Summer Day de Marge Piercy" data-description="In flat America, in Chicago, Graceland cemetery on the German North Side. Forty feet of Corinthian candle celebrate Pullman embedded lonely raisin in a cake of concrete. The Potter Palmers float in an island parthenon. Barons of hogfat, rai..."></div> </div> </div>

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