Intricate song’s lost measure

 

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Odd choices

 

They built a brutalist monstrosity

On top of Hilda Doolittle’s house

I don’t know why they did that

Just couldn’t help themselves

I suppose

 

We can be careless that way with treasures

Always putting tomorrow

Ahead of yesterday

Today, her house is underneath City Hall but then

Aren’t we all?

 

What remains of Hilda lays

In an unassuming grave

I must assume

 

I searched but couldn’t find it among the obelisks

And laurels

A sign of healthy humility

Don’t you think?

 

Dear H.D. made it just a short distance up the street

In which she was born

(Via New York, London, Paris, Zurich)

Now her ashes are up on Nisky Hill

Seashells of appreciation placed on her headstone

Or, so, I’m told

 

In the end, the poet came home

To a place she’d long left behind

Nestled in the soil of memory

Looking down on old familiar views

O little town of Bethlehem.

 

She could see her house from there

If she weren’t in an urn

And they hadn’t built a brutalist monstrosity on top of it.

 

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Words and images are my own.

 

©2019

 

Hilda Doolittle

 

 

8 thoughts on “Intricate song’s lost measure

  1. Et tu, Brutalist? Brutalist, yes, the first thing I thought of when I saw that edifice. The actual architectural style of something they could only love behind what was once called the Iron Curtain. Anyway, nice poem.

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      1. Boston city hall is Brutalist. Everybody fucking hates it and they finally have a plan to at least dress the area up a little more hospitably. You grew up in the capital? I didn’t know that. I’m on a project where I just spoke with a guy from there not a week ago.

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      2. A guy I work with here told me he went to a place called Surfer’s Paradise and found it be something less than that. I’d never heard of it.

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