Sun Through Snow

By PETER FILKINS

 

Turner could have done no better,
nor did he, articulating the light
made now radiant, prismatic:
hills, lake, trees and woolen sky
filtered by this sun-threaded squall
of snow as real as veneration,
the smell of rain, the heft of stone,
or the thought that within an hour
it will be gone, the veer and waft
and thrust of clouds and light
electric with the back-lit pulse
and shimmer of each ray of snow
consigned to memory and weather
closing down this moment’s glow.

 

[Purchase Issue 21 here.] 

 

Peter Filkins will publish his fifth collection of poems, Water / Music, with Johns Hopkins this April. His previous book of poems, The View We’re Granted, received the Sheila Margaret Motton Best Book Prize from the New England Poetry Club. Recent poems have appeared in The Paris Review, The Hopkins Review, Salmagundi, and The American Scholar. He teaches writing and literature at Bard College at Simon’s Rock and translation at Bard College.

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

Sun Through Snow

Related Posts

Sasha Burshteyn: Poems

SASHA BURSHTEYN
The slagheap dominates / the landscape. A new kurgan / for a new age. High grave, waste mound. / To think of life / among the mountains— / that clean, clear air— / and realize that you’ve been breathing / shit. Plant trees / around the spoil tip! Appreciate / the unnatural charm! Green fold, / gray pile.

New York City skyline

Lawrence Joseph: New Poems

JOSEPH LAWRENCE
what we do is // precise and limited, according to / the Minister of Defense, // the President / is drawing a line, // the President is drawing / a red line, we don’t want to see 

rebecca on a dock at sunset

Late Orison

REBECCA FOUST
You & I will grow old, Love, / we have grown old. But this last chance // in our late decades could be like the Pleiades, winter stars seen by / Sappho, Hesiod & Galileo & now by you & me.