Marianne Moore is delightful, and one of the few poets I know of that I’d actually enjoy hanging out with. It’d be great – we’d sit around drinking tea and talking about art, and then she’d be like, “Hey, do you want to hear about squids?” And then she would tell me all about squids and then share the poem she wrote about them, and it would be lovely.
Marianne Moore studied biology, so she really does write about stuff like that – nautiluses and fish and pelicans and buffalo, and it’s all really good. She wrote a six-page poem just about an octopus. An octopus!
of ice. Deceptively reserved and flat,
it lies “in grandeur and in mass”
beneath a sea of shifting snow-dunes;
dots of cyclamen-red and maroon on its clearly defined
made of glass that will bend – a much needed invention –
comprising twenty-eight ice-fields from fifty to five hundred
of unimagined delicacy.”
That is so awesome. And then she wrote this one, which I also love:
“I May, I Might, I Must
If you will tell me why the fen
appears impassable, I then
will tell you why I think that I
can get across it if I try.”
Marianne Moore, you are a cool lady.
Verdict: five out of five stars