Alden Nowlan

The Anatomy Of Angels By Alden Nowlan

The Anatomy Of Angels By Alden Nowlan

The Anatomy Of Angels Angels inhabit love songs. But they’re sprites not seraphim. The angel that up-ended Jacob had sturdy calves, moist hairy armpits, stout loins to serve the god whom she befriended, and was adept at wrestling. She wore a cobra like a girdle. Yet his bone mending he spent some se... »

A Poem About Miracles By Alden Nowlan

A Poem About Miracles By Alden Nowlan

A Poem About Miracles Why don’t the records go blank the instant the singer dies? Oh, I know there are explanations but they don’t convince me I’m still surprised When I hear the dead singing As for orchestra’s I expect the Instruments To fall silent one by one as the musicia... »

Broadcaster’s Poem By Alden Nowlan

Broadcaster’s Poem By Alden Nowlan

Broadcaster’s Poem I used to broadcast at night alone in a radio station but I was never good at it partly because my voice wasn’t right but mostly because my peculiar metaphysical stupidity made it impossible for me to keep believing their was somebody listening when it seemed I was tal... »

A Certain Kind Of Holy Men By Alden Nowlan

A Certain Kind Of Holy Men By Alden Nowlan

A Certain Kind Of Holy Men Not every wino is a Holy Man. Oh, but some of them are. I love those who’ve learned to sit comfortably for long periods with their hams pressed against their calves, outdoors, with a wall for a back-rest, contentedly saying nothing. These move about only when necessa... »

A Mysterious Naked Man By Alden Nowlan

A Mysterious Naked Man By Alden Nowlan

A Mysterious Naked Man A mysterious naked man has been reported on Cranston Avenue. The police are performing the usual ceremonies with coloured lights and sirens. Almost everyone is outdoors and strangers are conversing excitedly as they do during disasters when their involvement is peripheral. ... »

The Bull Moose By Alden Nowlan

The Bull Moose By Alden Nowlan

The Bull Moose Down from the purple mist of trees on the mountain, lurching through forests of white spruce and cedar, stumbling through tamarack swamps, came the bull moose to be stopped at last by a pole-fenced pasture. Too tired to turn or, perhaps, aware there was no place left to go, he stood w... »