May 31, 2013

[Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] Poem-A-Day: Summer in Winter in Summer by Noah Eli Gordon

Summer in Winter in Summer
by Noah Eli Gordon
 
 

The bottom teeth of summer 

in winter, braided into 

whomever stood on the green green bridge watching her shadow          lengthen. 

Sun-pocket. Sunflower. Seedling, you 

brittle blossoming something the room clears of dailyness. 

Daily, the bottom teeth of summer 

in winter, chewing through 

ropes, raree show rapunzeled, which is realism 

like this that there can be. These are really happened 

tell me again stories I will. I will again against it. 

Diving bell in a glass of water. Cacti atmosphere. 

A perfect piece of pink cake 

complicating perfection's tendency to falter. 

Who left it on the counter? Who walked through the room 

as though through a composition? The speaker enters quietly, 

closes a window, clearing dust from the chair 

to sit in the center of the poem, invigorated 

with inky awkward blankness. 

The bottom teeth of summer 

in winter chattering: here's the moon. Here's the moon 

splashed over two dozen calendars. Here, the kids are grown. 

The day is long. The bed, wide as a battleship, waits 

in its buoyancy. Imagine a life and live in it. Imagine dead as ever 


walking a cut lily back to water. Crazy epic crazier still trying 

to put down roots. Summer in winter like a speaker 

in water. The loudest electric sound is nothing compared 

to the soundest perforation. My paper life. My paper doll. 

Your paper boy. Sun sun sunflower seed summer you 

can say you love in a poem's inky blank awkwardness 

your paper boy. Sun sun sunflower seed summer you 

to the soundest perforation. My paper life. My paper doll 

in water. The loudest electric sound is nothing compared 

to put-down roots. Summer in winter like a speaker 

walking a cut lily back to water. Crazy epic crazier still trying 

in its buoyancy. Imagine a life and live in it. Imagine dead as ever 


the day is long. The bed, wide as a battleship, waits, 

splashed over two dozen calendars. Here, the kids are grown 

in winter chattering: here's the moon. Here's the moon. 

The bottom teeth of summer 

with inky awkward blankness 

to sit in the center of the poem, invigorated, 

closes a window, clearing dust from the chair. 

As though through a composition, the speaker enters. Quietly, 

who left it on the counter? Who walked through the room 

complicating perfection's tendency to falter. 

A perfect piece of pink cake. 

Diving bell in a glass of water. Cacti atmosphere, 

tell me again stories I will I will. Again, against it 

like this that there can be. These are really happened 

ropes, raree show rapunzeled. Which is realism 

in winter: Chewing through 

daily the bottom teeth of summer? 

Brittle blossoming something the room clears of dailyness? 

Sun-pocket. Sunflower. Seedling, you 

whomever stood on the green green bridge watching her shadow 

   lengthen 


in winter, braided into 

the bottom teeth of summer. 

 

 

  

Copyright © 2013 by Noah Eli Gordon. Used with permission of the author.  

 

About This Poem
"My wife's name is Sommer. We were married in winter at a courthouse in Denver after spending a total of only nineteen hours together. The following day, at a packed art gallery downtown, I read this poem for her. The poem repeats in reverse order each of its lines starting from the exact center; it's a form I stole from Peter Gizzi's 'Vincent, Homesick for the Land of Pictures.'
 

--Noah Eli Gordon

May 31, 2013
Noah Eli Gordon is the author of numerous books of poetry including his most recent, The Year of the Rooster (Ahsahta Press, 2013). He teaches at the University of Colorado at Boulder and lives in Denver.
Most Recent Book by Gordon 











(Ahsahta Press, 2013)
Related Poems
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
by Dylan Thomas
by William Carlos Williams
Poem-A-Day
Launched during National Poetry Month in 2006, Poem-A-Day features new and previously unpublished poems by contemporary poets on 
weekdays and classic poems 
on weekends. Browse the 



 
Thanks for being a part of the Academy of American Poets community. To learn about other programs, including National Poetry Month, Poem in Your Pocket Day, the annual Poets Forum, and more, visit Poets.org.
 
This email was sent to messagesheart@gmail.com by poetnews@poets.org |  
Academy of American Poets | 75 Maiden Lane | Suite 901 | New York | NY | 10038


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[Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] Poem-A-Day: Summer in Winter in Summer by Noah Eli Gordon

Summer in Winter in Summer
by Noah Eli Gordon
 
 

The bottom teeth of summer 

in winter, braided into 

whomever stood on the green green bridge watching her shadow          lengthen. 

Sun-pocket. Sunflower. Seedling, you 

brittle blossoming something the room clears of dailyness. 

Daily, the bottom teeth of summer 

in winter, chewing through 

ropes, raree show rapunzeled, which is realism 

like this that there can be. These are really happened 

tell me again stories I will. I will again against it. 

Diving bell in a glass of water. Cacti atmosphere. 

A perfect piece of pink cake 

complicating perfection's tendency to falter. 

Who left it on the counter? Who walked through the room 

as though through a composition? The speaker enters quietly, 

closes a window, clearing dust from the chair 

to sit in the center of the poem, invigorated 

with inky awkward blankness. 

The bottom teeth of summer 

in winter chattering: here's the moon. Here's the moon 

splashed over two dozen calendars. Here, the kids are grown. 

The day is long. The bed, wide as a battleship, waits 

in its buoyancy. Imagine a life and live in it. Imagine dead as ever 


walking a cut lily back to water. Crazy epic crazier still trying 

to put down roots. Summer in winter like a speaker 

in water. The loudest electric sound is nothing compared 

to the soundest perforation. My paper life. My paper doll. 

Your paper boy. Sun sun sunflower seed summer you 

can say you love in a poem's inky blank awkwardness 

your paper boy. Sun sun sunflower seed summer you 

to the soundest perforation. My paper life. My paper doll 

in water. The loudest electric sound is nothing compared 

to put-down roots. Summer in winter like a speaker 

walking a cut lily back to water. Crazy epic crazier still trying 

in its buoyancy. Imagine a life and live in it. Imagine dead as ever 


the day is long. The bed, wide as a battleship, waits, 

splashed over two dozen calendars. Here, the kids are grown 

in winter chattering: here's the moon. Here's the moon. 

The bottom teeth of summer 

with inky awkward blankness 

to sit in the center of the poem, invigorated, 

closes a window, clearing dust from the chair. 

As though through a composition, the speaker enters. Quietly, 

who left it on the counter? Who walked through the room 

complicating perfection's tendency to falter. 

A perfect piece of pink cake. 

Diving bell in a glass of water. Cacti atmosphere, 

tell me again stories I will I will. Again, against it 

like this that there can be. These are really happened 

ropes, raree show rapunzeled. Which is realism 

in winter: Chewing through 

daily the bottom teeth of summer? 

Brittle blossoming something the room clears of dailyness? 

Sun-pocket. Sunflower. Seedling, you 

whomever stood on the green green bridge watching her shadow 

   lengthen 


in winter, braided into 

the bottom teeth of summer. 

 

 

  

Copyright © 2013 by Noah Eli Gordon. Used with permission of the author.  

 

About This Poem
"My wife's name is Sommer. We were married in winter at a courthouse in Denver after spending a total of only nineteen hours together. The following day, at a packed art gallery downtown, I read this poem for her. The poem repeats in reverse order each of its lines starting from the exact center; it's a form I stole from Peter Gizzi's 'Vincent, Homesick for the Land of Pictures.'
 

--Noah Eli Gordon

May 31, 2013
Noah Eli Gordon is the author of numerous books of poetry including his most recent, The Year of the Rooster (Ahsahta Press, 2013). He teaches at the University of Colorado at Boulder and lives in Denver.
Most Recent Book by Gordon 











(Ahsahta Press, 2013)
Related Poems
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
by Dylan Thomas
by William Carlos Williams
Poem-A-Day
Launched during National Poetry Month in 2006, Poem-A-Day features new and previously unpublished poems by contemporary poets on 
weekdays and classic poems 
on weekends. Browse the 



 
Thanks for being a part of the Academy of American Poets community. To learn about other programs, including National Poetry Month, Poem in Your Pocket Day, the annual Poets Forum, and more, visit Poets.org.
 
This email was sent to messagesheart@gmail.com by poetnews@poets.org |  
Academy of American Poets | 75 Maiden Lane | Suite 901 | New York | NY | 10038


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[Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] [Messages] Poem-A-Day: Summer in Winter in Summer by Noah Eli Gordon

Summer in Winter in Summer
by Noah Eli Gordon
 
 

The bottom teeth of summer 

in winter, braided into 

whomever stood on the green green bridge watching her shadow          lengthen. 

Sun-pocket. Sunflower. Seedling, you 

brittle blossoming something the room clears of dailyness. 

Daily, the bottom teeth of summer 

in winter, chewing through 

ropes, raree show rapunzeled, which is realism 

like this that there can be. These are really happened 

tell me again stories I will. I will again against it. 

Diving bell in a glass of water. Cacti atmosphere. 

A perfect piece of pink cake 

complicating perfection's tendency to falter. 

Who left it on the counter? Who walked through the room 

as though through a composition? The speaker enters quietly, 

closes a window, clearing dust from the chair 

to sit in the center of the poem, invigorated 

with inky awkward blankness. 

The bottom teeth of summer 

in winter chattering: here's the moon. Here's the moon 

splashed over two dozen calendars. Here, the kids are grown. 

The day is long. The bed, wide as a battleship, waits 

in its buoyancy. Imagine a life and live in it. Imagine dead as ever 


walking a cut lily back to water. Crazy epic crazier still trying 

to put down roots. Summer in winter like a speaker 

in water. The loudest electric sound is nothing compared 

to the soundest perforation. My paper life. My paper doll. 

Your paper boy. Sun sun sunflower seed summer you 

can say you love in a poem's inky blank awkwardness 

your paper boy. Sun sun sunflower seed summer you 

to the soundest perforation. My paper life. My paper doll 

in water. The loudest electric sound is nothing compared 

to put-down roots. Summer in winter like a speaker 

walking a cut lily back to water. Crazy epic crazier still trying 

in its buoyancy. Imagine a life and live in it. Imagine dead as ever 


the day is long. The bed, wide as a battleship, waits, 

splashed over two dozen calendars. Here, the kids are grown 

in winter chattering: here's the moon. Here's the moon. 

The bottom teeth of summer 

with inky awkward blankness 

to sit in the center of the poem, invigorated, 

closes a window, clearing dust from the chair. 

As though through a composition, the speaker enters. Quietly, 

who left it on the counter? Who walked through the room 

complicating perfection's tendency to falter. 

A perfect piece of pink cake. 

Diving bell in a glass of water. Cacti atmosphere, 

tell me again stories I will I will. Again, against it 

like this that there can be. These are really happened 

ropes, raree show rapunzeled. Which is realism 

in winter: Chewing through 

daily the bottom teeth of summer? 

Brittle blossoming something the room clears of dailyness? 

Sun-pocket. Sunflower. Seedling, you 

whomever stood on the green green bridge watching her shadow 

   lengthen 


in winter, braided into 

the bottom teeth of summer. 

 

 

  

Copyright © 2013 by Noah Eli Gordon. Used with permission of the author.  

 

About This Poem
"My wife's name is Sommer. We were married in winter at a courthouse in Denver after spending a total of only nineteen hours together. The following day, at a packed art gallery downtown, I read this poem for her. The poem repeats in reverse order each of its lines starting from the exact center; it's a form I stole from Peter Gizzi's 'Vincent, Homesick for the Land of Pictures.'
 

--Noah Eli Gordon

May 31, 2013
Noah Eli Gordon is the author of numerous books of poetry including his most recent, The Year of the Rooster (Ahsahta Press, 2013). He teaches at the University of Colorado at Boulder and lives in Denver.
Most Recent Book by Gordon 











(Ahsahta Press, 2013)
Related Poems
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
by Dylan Thomas
by William Carlos Williams
Poem-A-Day
Launched during National Poetry Month in 2006, Poem-A-Day features new and previously unpublished poems by contemporary poets on 
weekdays and classic poems 
on weekends. Browse the 



 
Thanks for being a part of the Academy of American Poets community. To learn about other programs, including National Poetry Month, Poem in Your Pocket Day, the annual Poets Forum, and more, visit Poets.org.
 
This email was sent to messagesheart@gmail.com by poetnews@poets.org |  
Academy of American Poets | 75 Maiden Lane | Suite 901 | New York | NY | 10038


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