Fog by Amy Clampitt

A vagueness comes over everything,
as though proving color and contour
alike dispensable: the lighthouse
extinct, the islands’ spruce-tips
drunk up like milk in the
universal emulsion; houses
reverting into the lost
and forgotten; granite
subsumed, a rumor
in a mumble of ocean.
Tactile
definition, however, has not been
totally banished: hanging
tassel by tassel, panicled
foxtail and needlegrass,
dropseed, furred hawkweed,
and last season’s rose-hips
are vested in silenced
chimes of the finest,
clearest sea-crystal.
Opacity
opens up rooms, a showcase
for the hueless moonflower
corolla, as Georgia
O’Keefe might have seen it,
of foghorns; the nodding
campanula of bell buoys;
the ticking, linear
filigree of bird voices.

From: https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/fog-0

Date: 1983

By: Amy Clampitt (1920-1994)

One Comment to “Fog by Amy Clampitt”

  1. Clampitt was the wife of a law school classmate of mine. I don’t like most of her poems–too obscure–but I like this one.

    On Sat, Aug 11, 2018 at 9:30 PM, From Troubles of The World wrote:

    > flusteredduck posted: “A vagueness comes over everything, as though > proving color and contour alike dispensable: the lighthouse extinct, the > islands’ spruce-tips drunk up like milk in the universal emulsion; houses > reverting into the lost and forgotten; granite subsumed” >

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: