Showing posts from February, 2018


Mary Jo Salter THE SURVEYORS Also, I had a dream, about a year and a half ago, that I read a poem called "The Surveyors," and it was by you. Does this poem exist? I cannot remember any of the words, only that there were all four seasons in it, and that there were nice descriptions of a chain being made taut, the running out of the chain, over and over...               for Matthew Yeager, who wrote me this letter Dear Matt, I'm sorry to say "The Surveyors" does not exist, despite my being haunted by your question for a long while now, imagining time and again that the past can change; that the poem is on the list of things I did once, because you dreamed it of me. It's true, I regret, I've never put all four seasons into one poem, though the Shakespeare  sonnet I love most keenly, 73 ("That time of year thou may'st in me behold"), implies them, and I wish I'd made a gesture at least of homage. But when