It's cold

Maureen Davies

Maureen Davies

— 1 min read
It's cold
me when it's cold (this is not my picture)

3 degrees to be exact, and a wind chill of -15 F. Famously a huge fan of winter, and wishing I could listen to Pàdraig O'Tuama read poems to me all day. I'm memorizing this one at the moment:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57095/try-to-praise-the-mutilated-world-56d23a3f28187

The last stanza:

Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.

A banger! A revelation.

It was published in the September 24th, 2001 issue of The New Yorker, so there's that.

Read more