1.] The endlessness of line & thin
between two things. Of whiteness
& of sky; by framed by cloud by
framed. Of window; could with, by
stand for metaphor & simile of
opening & off the of, of closing off.
The thin blue of off transparency
& sky, the dull & dull of dull grey.
That level with the clouds, with heavy
rain, that with obscures the very day
& on. If with & of our. Is isolation
perspicacity, does opening open up
the frame, or form for more than us
an “indicating isotope” which in we
of us contain. Had not what was had
meant so much that introspection or
contemplation or unanswerable yet
come up as much with was as with
without. & always, always feeling that
the persistence of the presence of.

2.] The prospect of the outward sign.
The indicates though of the there there
always be through portents & of sign,
the meaning, meaning evening. Where
were the world outside to sing & sign,
where could but the clouds roll on, &
all the water sourced from hill or dale
& thorough thought could bring it out
to dance, be there but no outward sign.
& though the hills roll thus & on or on
& through for the & dark & flat that now
the night time calls the evening to ascend.
For here the difficulties are once more the
dark & flat & that now the narrow band
of cloudless sky. The world that made the
evening. The land there of. The clouds
above, the clods below the oft left window
at the to the bottom & there in the at the
there of this world. The word the word the
willow weeps, it, the willow, weeps for me.





Douglas Rothschild is most likely a poet you have never heard of, or if you have heard of him, you haven't bothered to call & see how he's doing. But you probably haven't thought about calling William Carlos Williams or Ezra Pound recently either. Herein you will find at least one, perhaps two poems, as good as most anything in the Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry. [Modern because those who enjoy poetry from the Romantic or Elizabethan periods are often not susceptible to the allures of contemporary writing.] As for his bio suffice to note that in the life of Mr. Rothschild stuff happened. No one noticed.

poetryBarzakh Mag