I just learned that the poet Russell Edson has died. I'm saddened and shock by his passing. I have long adored Edson's surreal prose poetry. He will continue to be an inspiration. He was a writer who ignored trends in pursuit of his original vision.
Here's a poem by Russell Edson:
A Journey Through the Moonlight
In sleep when an old man's body is no longer aware of its boundaries, and lies flattened by gravity like a mere of wax in its bed. . .It drips down to the floor and moves there like a tear down a cheek. . .Under the back door into the silver meadow, like a pool of sperm, frosty under the moon, as if in his first nature, boneless and absurd.
The moon lifts him up into its white field, a cloud shaped like an old man, porous with stars.
He floats through high dark branches, a corpse tangled in a tree on a river.
O for a muse of fire,