http://crookedtimber.org/2004/04/30/nem-tudhatom/ Out of the crooked timber of humanity, no straight thing was ever made Mon, 13 Feb 2012 03:14:53 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.3.1 http://crookedtimber.org/2004/04/30/nem-tudhatom/comment-page-1/#comment-26859 LiL Sat, 01 May 2004 02:48:11 +0000 http://crookedtimber.org/wp/?p=1500#comment-26859 I really love this poem too. It was actually one of the first "adult" poems I really loved - my father used to recite it when I was little. There's an incredible rhythm to it in Hungarian which is hard to transfer to English. I really love this poem too. It was actually one of the first “adult” poems I really loved – my father used to recite it when I was little. There’s an incredible rhythm to it in Hungarian which is hard to transfer to English.

]]> http://crookedtimber.org/2004/04/30/nem-tudhatom/comment-page-1/#comment-26858 John Isbell Fri, 30 Apr 2004 23:21:53 +0000 http://crookedtimber.org/wp/?p=1500#comment-26858 Here's a poem I wrote today: Eating A Burrito. It is April 30th. At 3:30 p.m., She is eating a burrito. Beneath her short black hair, She has a white t-shirt, An apron, And a pair of combat pants. It is a pleasant afternoon, And the terrace is half-full. Now she has finished the burrito, And wiped her hands. Breaks from work Are not always when we want them, Though there are worse places Than this wooden terrace, On a summer afternoon Made bright by birdsong. Here’s a poem I wrote today: Eating A Burrito. It is April 30th. At 3:30 p.m., She is eating a burrito. Beneath her short black hair, She has a white t-shirt, An apron, And a pair of combat pants. It is a pleasant afternoon, And the terrace is half-full. Now she has finished the burrito, And wiped her hands. Breaks from work Are not always when we want them, Though there are worse places Than this wooden terrace, On a summer afternoon Made bright by birdsong.

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