Poetry books stacked on the sofa
Poetry on the sofa

Poems by Joannie Kervran Stangeland
The sofa
Why a sofa?
Poems you can read on the sofa
Sometimes, poems need to be together, to work together, to work at all.

Sometimes, a series of poems reads almost like a story.

New on the sofa, a series of poems set in the Camargue region of France, along with a musician and a made-up myth.
Have a seat, and stay as long as you like.



Feature Poem

The Musician Plays on Rue Corneille

I was with the symphony, that snarling pack
of rats, of wolves in sheep skins, in tailored
black suits. Conniving thieves—but oh,
the music! In the great halls,
where acoustics let the sound
bend this way and that.

I played in Paris and Madrid,
Budapest and Prague. As I drew
the bow on gut, my violin sang.
But I was the black sheep, and when
I opened my mouth to speak,
Quel disaster.

One evening when the sky
was as black as a cat, the moon stared at me
and I looked back without a wink,
picked up my case with the plush blue lining
and followed the streetlights
to Gare de Lyon.

One train became another.
When I saw the sunlight here
I stopped. Now I play
for people who hurry past,
for the change in their pockets,
maybe a small smile they think I don’t see.



Read more poems from In the Mane of a White Horse.