Poems begining by I

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(I asked of Destiny...)

© Anselm Hollo

I asked of Destiny, Tell me who with relentless hand pushes me on?
Destiny told me to look behind.
I turned and saw my own self behind pushing forward the self in front.

In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 121

© Alfred Tennyson

Sad Hesper o'er the buried sun
And ready, thou, to die with him,
Thou watchest all things ever dim
And dimmer, and a glory done:

I Saw in Louisiana A Live-Oak Growing

© Walt Whitman

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,

All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,

Im thankful that my life doth not deceive

© Henry David Thoreau

Im thankful that my life doth not deceive

Itself with a low loftiness, half height,

I saw my Lady weep,
And Sorrow proud to be advanced so
In those fair eyes, where all perfections keep;
Her face was full of woe,
But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts
Than mirth can do, with her enticing parts.

Incident

© Eamon Grennan

for Louis Asekoff

Mid-October, Massachusetts. We drive

In Memoriam, July 19, 1914

© Anna Akhmatova

We aged a hundred years and this descended
In just one hour, as at a stroke.
The summer had been brief and now was ended;
The body of the ploughed plains lay in smoke.

Insect

© Annie Finch

That hour-glass-backed,
orchard-legged,
heavy-headed will,

In the Loop

© Richard Jones

I heard from people after the shootings. People

I knew well or barely or not at all. Largely

If I Were Another

© Mahmoud Darwish

If I were another on the road, I would have said
to the guitar: Teach me an extra string!
Because the house is farther, and the road to it prettier—
that’s what my new song would say. Whenever
the road lengthens the meaning renews, and I become two
on this road: I ... and another!

Incantation Against Lilith

© Pierre Reverdy

Veiled in velvet, is she here?
Leave off, leave off:
You shall not enter,
you shall not emerge.
It is neither yours nor your share.

In Celebration of My Uterus

© Anne Sexton

Everyone in me is a bird.

I am beating all my wings.

In the Past

© Trumbull Stickney

There lies a somnolent lake
Under a noiseless sky,
Where never the mornings break
Nor the evenings die.

In School-days

Still sits the school-house by the road,
A ragged beggar sleeping;
Around it still the sumachs grow,
And blackberry-vines are creeping.

(I found a few old letters...)

© Anselm Hollo

XIV

I found a few old letters of mine carefully hidden in thy boxa few small toys for thy memory to play with. With a timorous heart thou didst try to steal these trifles from the turbulent stream of time which washes away planets and stars, and didst say, These are only mine! Alas, there is no one now who can claim themwho is able to pay their price; yet they are still here. Is there no love in this world to rescue thee from utter loss, even like this love of thine that saved these letters with such fond care?
O woman, thou camest for a moment to my side and touched me with the great mystery of the woman that there is in the heart of creationshe who ever gives back to God his own outflow of sweetness; who is the eternal love and beauty and youth; who dances in bubbling streams and sings in the morning light; who with heaving waves suckles the thirsty earth and whose mercy melts in rain; in whom the eternal one breaks in two in joy that can contain itself no more and overflows in the pain of love.