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Poems
Dawn opens the accordion of façades,
Formstone and striped awnings of a street Robber Barons paved to lure the drones Hived in textile mills along the Falls A hundred years ago. In my corner room With a view of row-house cornices and The ruined forest on the hill beyond I keep no clock or mirror. I want no ticking image to remind My muse of Time’s progress on this front, The dial of minutes or my quotidian face. Nothing temporal excites this place But daylight, nightfall and the creeping dust, Metamorphic wind against the glass— And this eternal Traveler’s calendar, Months adorned by Currier & Ives. Faithful as Christmas, the agent of doom Sends me this quaint scroll from Connecticut. You know the type: a paper monument To Mark Twain’s America, the cake-tin Rococo sweetness of the Gilded Age. Janu ... This article is available to subscribers and for individual purchaseSubscribe to TNC (Print and Online editions) Subscribe to TNC (Online only) This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 15 September 1996, on page 93 Copyright © 2008 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com http://www.newcriterion.com/articles.cfm/travelerscalendar-epstein-3510
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