Steve Kronen

An Island
July 21, 2020 Kronen Steve

An Island
–ending almost with a phrase spoken by Keats, from Cowden Clarke’s remembrances
Toward the end of the island
(a tapered
spit of sand
and ocean cusp),
I heard a bell
(a bird,
it turned out), almost as I’d heard
once, a crisp
anvil-struck knell
come from the next town over
when someone (I figured) had died
and, hip to hip,
friends must have lined benches
(salvaged from an Erie ship
foundered in the century before the last.
Sonar first described the mast
and, later, I saw a liminal
pan of the crustaceous bolts dwindled
along its side
— it was on the news
and in the papers).
Sitting like birds, they sang
(though, not like birds), haunches,
almost touching, the smart clang
out of the cupola
above the pews,
the hymnals
in each hand lit hard from the big window,
and a troop of creatures floating in the ray
going every which way,
(unlike the bubbles
of the diver)
…this way and that, and every which way.

Steve Kronen‘s collections are Homage to Mistress Oppenheimer,  (Eyewear), Splendor (BOA), and Empirical Evidence, (University of Georgia Press). His work has appeared in The New RepublicThe American ScholarPoetryImage, APRLittle StarSubtropicsThe Southern Review, Arion, The Sewanee ReviewThe Yale ReviewNew Statesman, and Plume. Awards include an NEA, three Florida Individual Artist fellowships, the Cecil Hemley Memorial Award from the Poetry Society of America, the James Boatwright Poetry Prize from Shenandoah, and fellowships from Bread Loaf, and the Sewanee Writers’ Conferences. He received an MFA from Warren Wilson College. Steve is a librarian in Miami where he lives with his wife, novelist Ivonne Lamazares.