poetry picks

8/17/2019 Poetry Picks

1/100

CHARLES BUKOWSKI

O, We Are The Outcasts

ah, christ, what a CREW:

more

poetry, always more

P O E T R Y .

if it doesn't come, coax it ot with a

laxati!e. "et yor name in #$%&T,

"et it p there in

( )*+ x )) mimeo.

eep it comin" lie a miracle.

ah christ, writers are the most sicenin"

of all the lots-

yellowtoothed, slmpsholdered,

"tless, /ea0itten and

o0!ios . . . in tinertoy rooms

with their /a00y hearts

they tell s

what's wron" with the world

as if we didn't now that a cop's cl0

can crac the head

and that war is a dirtier "ame than

marria"e . . .

or down in a 0asement 0ar

hidin" from a wife who doesn't appreciate him


2/100

and children he doesn't

want

he tells s that his heart is drownin" in

!omit. hell, all or hearts are drownin" in !omit,

in por salt, in 0ad !erse, in so""y

lo!e.

0t he thins he's alone and

he thins he's special and he thins he's Rim0ad

and he thins he's

Pond.

and death- how a0ot death1 did yo now

that we all ha!e to die1 e!en 2eats died, e!en

3ilton-

and 4. ThomasT&EY 2$##E4 &$3, of corse.

Thomas didn't want all those free drins

all that free pssy

they . . . 5ORCE4 $T O6 &$3

when they shold ha!e left him alone so he cold

write write WR$TE-

poets.

and there's another

type. $'!e met them at their contry

places 7don't as me what $ was doin" there 0ecase

$ don't now8.

they were 0orn with money and

they don't ha!e to dirty their hands in


3/100

sla"hterhoses or washin"

dishes in "rease 9oints or

dri!in" ca0s or pimpin" or sellin" pot.

this "i!es them time to nderstand

#ife.

they wal in with their coctail "lass

held a0ot heart hi"h

and when they drin they 9st

sip.

yo are drinin" "reen 0eer which yo

0ro"ht with yo

0ecase yo ha!e fond ot thro"h the years

that rich 0astards are ti"ht

they se cent stamps instead of airmail

they promise to ha!e all sorts of "oodies ready

pon yor arri!al

from "allons of whisy to

; cent ci"ars. 0t it's ne!er

there.

and they &$4E their women from yo

their wi!es, xwi!es, da"hters, maids, so forth,

0ecase they'!e read yor poems and


4/100

and

he WR$TE TOO.

POETRY, of

corse. e!ery0ody

writes

poetry.

he has plenty of time and a

posto>ce 0ox in town

and he dri!es there ? or @ times a day

looin" and hopin" for accepted

poems.

he thins that po!erty is a weaness of the

sol.

he thins yor mind is ill 0ecase yo are

drn all the time and ha!e to wor in a

factory ); or )+ hors a

ni"ht.

he 0rin"s his wife in, a 0eaty, stolen from a

poorer rich

man.

he lets yo "aAe for ?; seconds

then hstles her

ot. she has 0een cryin" for some

reason.

yo'!e "ot ? or @ days to lin"er in the

"esthose he says,


5/100

Bcome on o!er to dinner

sometime.B

0t he doesn't say when or

where. and then yo


6/100

and to eep his eye on all the other mail 0oxes

in all his other

hoses.

meanwhile, the star!in" $ndians

sell 0eads and 0asets in the streets of the small desert

town.

the $ndians are not allowed in his hoses

not so mch 0ecase they are a fcthreat

0t 0ecase they are

dirty and

i"norant. dirty1 $ loo down at my shirt

with the 0eerstain on the front.

i"norant1 $ li"ht a cent ci"ar and

for"et a0ot

it.

he or they or some0ody was spposed to meet me at

the

train station.

of corse, they weren't

there. BWe'll 0e there to meet the "reat

Poet-B

well, $ looed arond and didn't see any

"reat poet. 0esides it was F a.m. and

@; de"rees. those thin"s

happen. the tro0le was there were no

0ars open. nothin" open. not e!en a


7/100

9ail.

he's a poet.

he's also a doctor, a headshriner.

no 0lood in!ol!ed that

way. he won't tell me whether $ am craAy or

not$ don't ha!e the

money.

he wals ot with his coctail "lass

disappears for + hors, ? hors,

then sddenly comes walin" 0ac in

nannonced

with the same coctail "lass

to mae sre $ ha!en't "otten hold of

somethin" more precios than

#ife itself.

my cheap "reen 0eer is illin"

me. he shows heart 7hrrah8 and

"i!es me a little pill that stops my

"a""in".

0t nothin" decent to

drin.

he'd 0o"ht a small pac

for my arri!al 0t that was "one in an

hor and )

mintes.

B$'ll 0y yo 0arrels of 0eer,B he had


8/100

said.

$ sed his phone 7one of his phones8

to "et deli!eries of 0eer and

cheap whisy. the town was ten miles away,

downhill. $ peeled my poor dollars from my poor

roll. and the 0oy needed a tip, of

corse.

the way it was shapin" p $ cold see that $ was

hardly 4ylan Thomas yet, not e!en

Ro0ert Creeley. certainly Creeley woldn't ha!e

had 0eerstains on his

shirt.

anyhow, when $


9/100

Ban intrder,B $ cold hear him tellin" them,

Bra!ishin" one of my helpless xwi!es.B

$ see him p0lished in some of the ma"aAines

now. not !ery "ood stG.

a poem a0ot me

too: the Polac.

the Polac whines too mch. the Polac whines a0ot his

contry, other contries, all contries, the Polac

wors o!ertime in a factory lie a fool, amon" other

fools with Bpredrained spirits.B

the Polac drins seas of "reen 0eer

fll of acid. the Polac has an lcerated

hemorrhoid. the Polac pics on fa"s

Bfra"ile fa"s.B the Polac hates his

wife, hates his da"hter. his da"hter will 0ecome

an alcoholic, a prostitte. the Polac has an

Bo0ese 0rned ot wife.B the Polac has a

spastic "t. the Polac has a

Brectal 0rain.B

than yo, 4octor 7and poet8. any char"e for

this1 $ now $ still owe yo for the

pill.

Yor poem is not too "ood

0t at least $ "ot yor starch p.

most of yor stG is a0ot as li!ely as a

wet and de/ated


10/100

0each0all. 0t it is yor rond, yo'!e won a rond.

"oin" to in!ite me ot this

mmer1 $ mi"ht scrape p

trainfare. "ot an $ndian friend who'd lie to meet

yo and yors. he swears he's "ot the 0i""est

pecer in the state of California.

and "ess what1

he writes

POETRY

too-

7c8 Charles Howsi

It's Ours

there is always that space there

9st 0efore they "et to s

that space

that


11/100

thinin" of nothin"

or say

porin" a "lass of water from the

spi"ot

while entranced 0y

nothin"

that

"entle pre

space

it's worth

centries of

existence

say

9st to scratch yor nec

while looin" ot the window at

a 0are 0ranch

that space

there

0efore they "et to s

ensres

that

when they do

they won't


12/100

"et it all

e!er.

7c8 Charles Howsi


13/100

We Ain't Got No Money, Honey, But

We Got Rain

call it the "reenhose eGect or whate!er

0t it 9st doesn't rain lie it sed to.

$ particlarly remem0er the rains of the

depression era.

there wasn't any money 0t there was

plenty of rain.

it woldn't rain for 9st a ni"ht or

a day,

it wold RD$6 for F days and F

ni"hts

and in #os Dn"eles the storm drains

weren't 0ilt to carry oG taht mch

water

and the rain came down T&$C2 and

3ED6 and

TED4Y

and yo &EDR4 it 0an"in" a"ainst

the roofs and into the "rond

waterfalls of it came down

from roofs

and there was &D$#

0i" ROC2 O5 $CE

0om0in"

explodin" smashin" into thin"s


14/100

and the rain

9st woldn't

TOP

and all the roofs leaed

dishpans,

cooin" pots

were placed all a0otI

they dripped lodly

and had to 0e emptied

a"ain and

a"ain.

the rain came p o!er the street cr0in"s,

across the lawns, clim0ed p the steps and

entered the hoses.

there were mops and 0athroom towels,

and the rain often came p thro"h the

toilets:000lin", 0rown, craAy,whirlin",

and all the old cars stood in the streets,

cars that had pro0lems startin" on a

snny day,

and the 9o0less men stood

looin" ot the windows

at the old machines dyin"

lie li!in" thin"s ot there.

the 9o0less men,

failres in a failin" time


15/100

were imprisoned in their hoses with their

wi!es and children

and their

pets.

the pets refsed to "o ot

and left their waste in

stran"e places.

the 9o0less men went mad

con


16/100

ntil they

seperated.

B$'ll ill yo,B $ screamed

at him. BYo hit her a"ain

and $'ll ill yo-B

B%et that sonofa0itchin"

id ot of here-B

Bno, &enry, yo stay with

yor mother-B

all the hoseholds were nder

sei"e 0t $ 0elie!e that ors

held more terror than the

a!era"e.

and at ni"ht

as we attempted to sleep

the rains still came down

and it was in 0ed

in the dar

watchin" the moon a"ainst

the scarred window

so 0ra!ely

holdin" ot

most of the rain,

$ tho"ht of 6oah and the

Dr

and $ tho"ht, it has come


17/100

a"ain.

we all tho"ht

that.

and then, at once, it wold

stop.

and it always seemed to

stop

arond or a.m.,

peacefl then,

0t not an exact silence

0ecase thin"s contined to

drip

drip

drip

and there was no smo" then

and 0y ( a.m.

there was a

0laAin" yellow snli"ht,

Jan %o"h yellow

craAy, 0lindin"-

and then

the roof drains

relie!ed of the rsh of

water

0e"an to expand in the warmth:


18/100

PD6%-PD6%-PD6%-

and e!ery0ody "ot p and looed otside

and there were all the lawns

still soaed

"reener than "reen will e!er

0e

and there were 0irds

on the lawn

C&$RP$6% lie mad,

they hadn't eaten decently

for F days and F ni"hts

and they were weary of

0erries

and

they waited as the worms

rose to the top,

half drowned worms.

the 0irds plced them

p

and "o00led them

downIthere were

0lac0irds and sparrows.

the 0lac0irds tried to

dri!e the sparrows oG

0t the sparrows,

maddened with hn"er,


19/100

smaller and =icer,

"ot their

de.

the men stood on their porches

smoin" ci"arettes,

now nowin"

they'd ha!e to "o ot

there

to loo for that 9o0

that pro0a0ly wasn't

there, to start that car

that pro0a0ly woldn't

start.

and the once 0eatifl

wi!es

stood in their 0athrooms

com0in" their hair,

applyin" maep,

tryin" to pt their world 0ac

to"ether a"ain,

tryin" to for"et that

awfl sadness that

"ripped them,

wonderin" what they cold


20/100

and on the radio

we were told that

school was now

open.

and

soon

there $ was

on the way to school,

massi!e pddles in the

street,

the sn lie a new

world,

my parents 0ac in that

hose,

$ arri!ed at my classroom

on time.

3rs. orenson "reeted s

with, Bwe won't ha!e or

sal recess, the "ronds

are too wet.B

BDW-B most of the 0oys

went.

B0t we are "oin" to do

somethin" special at

recess,B she went on,

Band it will 0e


21/100

fn-B

well, we all wondered

what that wold

0e

and the two hor wait

seemed a lon" time

as 3rs.orenson

went a0ot

teachin" her

lessons.

$ looed at the little

"irls, they looed so

pretty and clean and

alert,

they sat still and

strai"ht

and their hair was

0eatifl

in the California

snshine.

the the recess 0ells ran"

and we all waited for the

fn.

then 3rs. orenson told s:

Bnow, what we are "oin" to

do is we are "oin" to tell


22/100

each other what we did

drin" the rainstorm-

we'll 0e"in in the front row

and "o ri"ht arond-

now, 3ichael, yo're


23/100

stories.

one "irl said that

when the rain0ow


24/100

will 0e dry

and we will pt them

to se

a"ain.B

most of the 0oys

cheered

and the little "irls

sat !ery strai"ht and

still,

looin" so pretty and

clean and

alert,

their hair 0eatifl in a snshine that

the world mi"ht ne!er see

a"ain.

and

7c8 Charles Howsi

Finish

We are lie roses that ha!e ne!er 0othered to

0loom when we shold ha!e 0loomed and

it is as if


25/100

the sn has 0ecome dis"sted with

waitin"

7c8 Charles Howsi

Alone With Everyboy

the /esh co!ers the 0one

and they pt a mind


26/100

in there and

sometimes a sol,

and the women 0rea

!ases a"ainst the walls

and the men drin too

mch

and no0ody


27/100

the 9nyards


28/100

The Most

here comes the


29/100

as all the


30/100

!o No"#

the words ha!e come and "one,

$ sit ill.

the phone rin"s, the cats sleep.

#inda !acms.

$ am waitin" to li!e,

waitin" to die.

$ wish $ cold rin" in some 0ra!ery.

it's a losy


31/100

7c8 Charles Howsi

My First A$air With That Oler Wo%an

when $ loo 0ac now

at the a0se $ too from

her

$ feel shame that $ was so

innocent,

0t $ mst say

she did match me drin for

drin,

and $ realiAed that her life

her feelin"s for thin"s

had 0een rined

alon" the way

and that $ was no mare than a

temporary


32/100

companionI

she was ten years older

and mortally hrt 0y the past

and the presentI

she treated me 0adly:

desertion, other

menI

she 0ro"ht me immense

pain,

continallyI

she lied, stoleI

there was desertion,

other men,

yet we had or momentsI and

or little soap opera ended

with her in a coma

in the hospital,

and $ sat at her 0ed

for hors

talin" to her,

and then she opened her eyes

and saw me:

B$ new it wold 0e yo,B

she said.

then hse closed her

eyes.


33/100

the next day she was

dead.

$ dran alone

for two years

after that.

7c8 Charles Howsi

ome People

some people ne!er "o craAy.

me, sometimes $'ll lie down 0ehind the coch

for ? or @ days.

they'll


34/100

$'ll feel mch 0etter,

sit down to toast and e""s,

hm a little tne,

sddenly 0ecome as lo!a0le as a

pin

o!erfed whale.

some people ne!er "o craAy.

what trly horri0le li!es

they mst lead.

7c8 Charles Howsi

Elegy

Oh destiny of Borgesto have sailed across the diverse

seas of the world

or across that single and solitary

sea of diverse

naes!

to have "een a #art of Edin"$rgh!

of %$rich! of the


35/100

two Cordo"as!

of Colo"ia and of &e'as!

to have ret$rned at the end of

changing generations

to the ancient lands of his

fore"ears!

to Andal$cia! to (ort$gal and to

those co$nties

where the Sa'on warred with the

)ane and they

i'ed their "lood!

to have wandered thro$gh the red

and tran*$il

la"yrinth of London!

to have grown old in so anyirrors!


36/100

to have so$ght in vain the ar"le

ga+e of the stat$es!

to have *$estioned lithogra#hs!encyclo#edias!

atlases!

to have seen the things that en

see!

death! the sl$ggish dawn! the

#lains!

and the delicate stars!

and to have seen nothing! oralost nothing

e'ce#t the face of a girl fro

B$enos Aires

a face that does not want yo$ to

ree"er it,

Oh destiny of Borges!


37/100

#erha#s no stranger than yo$r

own,

-c. /orge L$is Borges

Remorse For Any Death

Free of memory and of hope,

limitless, abstract, almost future,

the dead man is not a dead man: he is

death.

Like the God of the mystics,

of Whom anything that could be said

must be denied,

the dead one, alien eery!here,

is but the ruin and absence of the

!orld.

We rob him of eerything,

!e leae him not so much as a color

or syllable:


38/100

here, the courtyard !hich his eyes no

longer see,

there, the side!alk !here his hope layin !ait.

"en !hat !e are thinking,

he could be thinking#

!e hae diied up like thiees

the booty of nights and days.

$c% &orge Luis 'orges


39/100

'ro!ning Decides (o 'e A )oet

in these red labyrinths of London* find that * hae chosen

the strangest of all callings,

sae that, in its !ay, any calling is

strange.Like the alchemist

!ho sought the philosopher+s stone


40/100

in uicksiler,

* shall make eeryday !ords--

the gambler+s marked cards, the

common coin--

gie off the magic that !as their

!hen (hor !as both the god and the

din,

the thunderclap and the prayer.

*n today+s dialect

* shall say, in my fashion, eternal

things:

* shall try to be !orthy

of the great echo of 'yron.

(his dust that * am !ill be

inulnerable.

*f a !oman shares my loe


41/100

my erse !ill touch the tenth sphere

of the concentric heaens#

if a !oman turns my loe aside

* !ill make of my sadness a music,

a full rier to resound through time.

* shall lie by forgetting myself.

* shall be the face * glimpse and

forget,

* shall be &udas !ho takes on

the diine mission of being a betrayer,

* shall be aliban in his bog,

* shall be a mercenary !ho dies

!ithout fear and !ithout faith,

* shall be )olycrates, !ho looks in a!e

upon the seal returned by fate.

* !ill be the friend !ho hates me.


42/100

(he persian !ill gie me the

nightingale, and Rome the s!ord.

/asks, agonies, resurrections

!ill !eae and un!eae my life,

and in time * shall be Robert

'ro!ning.



43/100

Shinto

When sorrow lays $s low

for a second we are saved

"y h$"le windfalls

of the indf$lness or eory0

the taste of a fr$it! the taste of

water!

that face given "ac1 to $s "y a

drea!

the first 2asine of 3ove"er!

the endless yearning of the

co#ass!

a "oo1 we tho$ght was lost!

the thro" of a he'aeter!


44/100

the slight 1ey that o#ens a ho$se

to $s!

the sell of a li"rary! or ofsandalwood!

the forer nae of a street!

the colors of a a#!

an $nforeseen etyology!

the soothness of a filed

fingernail!

the date we were loo1ing for!

the twelve dar1 "ell4stro1es!

tolling as we co$nt!

a s$dden #hysical #ain,

Eight illion Shinto deities

travel secretly thro$gho$t the

earth,

&hose odest gods to$ch $s44


45/100

to$ch $s and ove on,

-c. /orge L$is Borges

(hat 0ne0h days deoted to the useless

burden

of putting out of mind the biography

of a minor poet of the 1outhem2emisphere,


46/100

to !hom the fates or perhaps the

stars hae gien

a body !hich !ill leae behind nochild,

and blindness, !hich is semi-darkness

and 3ail,

and old age, !hich is the da!n ofdeath,

and fame, !hich absolutely nobody

deseres,

and the practice of !eaing

hendecasyllables,

and an old loe of encyclopedias

and fine handmade maps and smooth

iory,

and an incurable nostalgia for the

Latin,


47/100

and bits of memories of "dinburgh and

Genea

and the loss of memory of names anddates,

and the cult of the "ast, !hich the

aried peoples

of the teeming "ast do not themselesshare,

and eening trembling !ith hope or

e4pectation,

and the disease of entymology,

and the iron of Anglo-1a4on syllables,

and the moon, that al!ays catches us

by surprise,

and that !orse of all bad habits,

'uenos Aires,

and the subtle flaor of !ater, the

taste of grapes,


48/100

and chocolate, oh /e4ican delicacy,

and a fe! coins and an old hourglass,

and that an eening, like so many

others,

be gien oer to these lines of erse.


Limits

0f all the streets that blur in to the

sunset,

(here must be one $!hich, * am not

sure%

(hat * by no! hae !alked for the last

time

Without guessing it, the pa!n of that

1omeone


49/100

Who fi4es in adance omnipotent

la!s,

1ets up a secret and un!aering scale

for all the shado!s, dreams, and

forms

Woen into the te4ture of this life.

*f there is a limit to all things and a

measure

And a last time and nothing more and

forgetfulness,

Who !ill tell us to !hom in this house

We !ithout kno!ing it hae said

fare!ell5

(hrough the da!ning !indo! night

!ithdra!s

And among the stacked books !hich

thro!


50/100

*rregular shado!s on the dim table,

(here must be one !hich * !ill neer

read.

(here is in the 1outh more than one

!orn gate,

With its cement urns and planted

cactus,

Which is already forbidden to my

entry,

*naccessible, as in a lithograph.

(here is a door you hae closedforeer

And some mirror is e4pecting you in

ain#

(o you the crossroads seem !ide

open,

6et !atching you, four-faced, is a

&anus.


51/100

(here is among all your memories

one

Which has no! been lost beyondrecall.

6ou !ill not be seen going do!n to

that fountain

7either by !hite sun nor by yello!moon.

6ou !ill neer recapture !hat the

)ersian

1aid in his language !oen !ith birds

and roses,

When, in the sunset, before the light

disperses,

6ou !ish to gie !ords to

unforgettable things.

And the steadily flo!ing Rhone and

the lake,


52/100

All that ast yesterday oer !hich

today * bend5

(hey !ill be as lost as arthage,

1courged by the Romans !ith fire and

salt.

At da!n * seem to hear the turbulent

/urmur of cro!ds milling and fading

a!ay#

(hey are all * hae been loed by,

forgotten by#

1pace, time, and 'orges no! areleaing me.


(he 0ther (iger


53/100

A tiger comes to mind. (he t!ilight

here

"4alts the ast and busy Library

And seems to set the booksheles

back in gloom#

*nnocent, ruthless, bloodstained, sleek

*t !anders through its forest and its

day

)rinting a track along the muddy

banks

0f sluggish streams !hose names itdoes not kno!

$*n its !orld there are no names or

past

0r time to come, only the iid no!%

And makes its !ay across !ild

distances


54/100

1niffing the braided labyrinth of smells

And in the !ind picking the smell of

da!n

And tantali8ing scent of gra8ing deer#

Among the bamboo+s slanting stripes *

glimpse

(he tiger+s stripes and sense the bony

frame

9nder the splendid, uiering coer of

skin.

uring oceans and the planet+s!astes keep us

Apart in ain# from here in a house far

off

*n 1outh America * dream of you,

(rack you, 0 tiger of the Ganges+

banks.


55/100

*t strikes me no! as eening fills my

soul

(hat the tiger addressed in my poem

*s a shado!y beast, a tiger of symbols

And scraps picked up at random out of

books,

A string of labored tropes that hae no

life,

And not the fated tiger, the deadly

3e!el

(hat under sun or stars or changingmoon

Goes on in 'engal or 1umatra fulfilling

*ts rounds of loe and indolence and

death.

(o the tiger of symbols * hold opposed


56/100

(he one that+s real, the one !hose

blood runs hot

As it cuts do!n a herd of buffaloes,

And that today, this August third,

nineteen

Fifty-nine, thro!s its shado! on the

grass#

'ut by the act of giing it a name,

'y trying to fi4 the limits of its !orld,

*t becomes a fiction not a liing beast,

7ot a tiger out roaming the !ilds of

earth.

We+ll hunt for a third tiger no!, but

like

(he others this one too !ill be a form

0f !hat * dream, a structure of !ords,

and not


57/100

(he flesh and one tiger that beyond all

myths

)aces the earth. * kno! these thingsuite !ell,

6et nonetheless some force keeps

driing me

*n this ague, unreasonable, andancient uest,

And * go on pursuing through the

hours

Another tiger, the beast not found in

erse.



58/100

*nstants

*f * could lie again my life,

*n the ne4t - *+ll try,

- to make more mistakes,

* !on+t try to be so perfect,


59/100

*+ll be more rela4ed,

*+ll be more full - than * am no!,

*n fact, *+ll take fe!er things seriously,

*+ll be less hygenic,

*+ll take more risks,

*+ll take more trips,

*+ll !atch more sunsets,

*+ll climb more mountains,

*+ll s!im more riers,

*+ll go to more places - *+e neerbeen,

*+ll eat more ice creams and less

$lime% beans,

*+ll hae more real problems - and less

imaginary

ones,


60/100

* !as one of those people !ho lie

prudent and prolific lies -

each minute of his

life,

0ffcourse that * had moments of 3oy -

but,

if * could go back *+ll try to hae only

good moments,

*f you don+t kno! - thats !hat life is

made of,

Don+t lose the no!

* !as one of those !ho neer goes

any!here

!ithout a thermometer,

!ithout a hot-!ater bottle,

and !ithout an umberella and !ithout

a parachute,


61/100

*f * could lie again - * !ill trael

light,

*f * could lie again - *+ll try to !orkbare feet

at the beginning of spring

till

the end of autumn,

*+ll ride more carts,

*+ll !atch more sunrises and play !ith

more children,

*f * hae the life to lie - but no! * am;


62/100

(he Art 0f )oetry

(o ga8e at a rier made of time and

!ater

And remember (ime is another rier.

(o kno! !e stray like a rier

and our faces anish like !ater.

(o feel that !aking is another dreamthat dreams of not dreaming and that

the death


63/100

!e fear in our bones is the death

that eery night !e call a dream.

(o see in eery day and year a

symbol

of all the days of man and his years,

and conert the outrage of the years

into a music, a sound, and a symbol.

(o see in death a dream, in the

sunset

a golden sadness--such is poetry,

humble and immortal, poetry,

returning, like da!n and the sunset.

1ometimes at eening there+s a face

that sees us from the deeps of a

mirror.

Art must be that sort of mirror,


64/100

disclosing to each of us his face.

(hey say 9lysses, !earied of

!onders,

!ept !ith loe on seeing *thaca,

humble and green. Art is that *thaca,

a green eternity, not !onders.

Art is endless like a rier flo!ing,

passing, yet remaining, a mirror to the

same

inconstant 2eraclitus, !ho is the same

and yet another, like the rier flo!ing.



65/100

A (olar E'#lorer

All the huskies are eaten. (here is no

space

left in the diary, And the beads of

uick

!ords scatter oer his spouse+s sepia-

shaded face

adding the date in uestion like a

mole to her loely cheek.

7e4t, the snapshot of his sister. 2e

doesn+t spare his kin:

!hat+s been reached is the highest

possible latitude

And, like the silk stocking of a

burlesue half-nude

ueen, it climbs up his thigh:

gangrene.

$c% &oseph 'rodsky


66/100

Letter to an Archaeologist

iti8en, enemy, mama+s boy, sucker,

utter

garbage, panhandler, s!ine, refu3e!,

errucht#

a scalp so often scalded !ith boiling

!ater

that the puny brain feels completely

cooked.

6es, !e hae d!elt here: in this

concrete, brick, !ooden

rubble !hich you no! arrie to sift.

All our !ires !ere crossed, barbed,

tangled, or inter!oen.


67/100

Also: !e didn+t loe our !omen, but

they conceied.

1harp is the sound of picka4 thathurts dead iron#

still, it+s gentler that !hat !e+e been

told or hae said ourseles.

1tranger moe carefully through ourcarrion:

!hat seems carrion to you is freedom

to our cells.

Leae our names alone. Don+t

reconstruct those o!els,

consonants, and so forth: they !on+t

resemble larks

but a demented bloodhound !hose

ma! deours

its o!n traces, feces, and barks, and

barks.


68/100

$c% &oseph 'rodsky

&5rnfallet

(here is a meado! in 1!eden

!here * lie smitten,

eyes stained !ith clouds+

!hite ins and outs.


69/100

And about that meado!

roams my !ido!

plaiting a cloer

!reath for her loer.

* took her in marriage

in a granite parish.

(he sno! lent her !hiteness,

a pine !as a !itness.

1he+d s!im in the oal

lake !hose opal

mirror, framed by bracken,

felt happy, broken.

And at night the stubbornsun of her auburn

hair shone from my pillo!


70/100

at post and pillar.

7o! in the distance

* hear her descant.

1he sings ='lue 1!allo!,=

but * can+t follo!.

(he eening shado!

robs the meado!

of !idth and color.

*t+s getting colder.

As * lie dyinghere, *+m eyeing

stars. 2ere+s >enus#

no one bet!een us..

$c% &oseph 'rodsky

&oes


71/100

(here is a section in my library for

death

and another for *rish history,

a fe! sheles for the poetry of hina

and &apan,

and in the center a ro! of

imperturbable reference books,

the ones you can turn to anytime,

!hen the night is going !rong

or !hen the day is full of empty

promise.

* hae nothing against

the thin monograph, the odd uery,

a note on the identity of hekho+sdentist,

but !hat * prefer on days like these


72/100

is to get up from the couch,

pull do!n (he 2istory of the World,

and hold in my hands a book

containing nearly eerything

and !eighing no more than a sack of

potatoes,

eleen pounds, * discoered one day

!hen * placed it

on the black, iron scale

my mother used to keep in her

kitchen,

the deice on !hich she !ould place

a certain amount of flour,

a certain amount of fish.

0pen flat on my lap

under a halo of lamplight,


73/100

a book like this al!ays has a !ay

of soothing the neres,

uieting the riotous surf of information

that foams around my !aist

een though it neer mentions

the silent labors of the poor,

the daydreams of grocers and tailors,

or the faces of men and !omen alone

in single rooms-

een though it neer mentions my

mother,

no! that * think of her again,

!ho only last year rolled off the edge

of the earth

in her electric bed,

in her smooth pink nightgo!n


74/100

the bones of her fingers interlocked,

her sunken eyes staring up!ard

beyond all kno!ledge,

beyond the tiny figures of history,

some in uniform, some not,

marching onto the pages of this

incredibly heay book.

$c% 'illy ollins


75/100

(icnic! Lightning

*t is possible to be struck by a

meteor or a single-engine plane !hilereading in a chair at home.

)edestrians

are flattened by safes falling from

rooftops mostly !ithin the panels of the comics, but still, !e kno! it is

possible, as !ell as the flash of


76/100

summer lightning, the thermos

toppling

oer, spilling out on the grass.

And !e kno! the message can be

deliered from !ithin. (he heart, no

alentine, decides to uit after

lunch, the po!er shut off like a

s!itch, or a tiny dark ship is

unmoored into the flo! of the body+s

riers, the brain a monastery,

defenseless on the shore. (his is

!hat * think about !hen * shoel

compost into a !heelbarro!, and

!hen

* fill the long flo!er bo4es, then

press into ro!s the limp roots of red


77/100

impatiens -- the instant hand of Death

al!ays ready to burst forth from the

sleee of his oluminous cloak. (hen

the soil is full of marels, bits of

leaf like flakes off a fresco,

red-bro!n pine needles, a beetle uick

to burro! back under the loam. (hen

the !heelbarro! is a !ilder blue, the

clouds a brighter !hite, and all *

hear is the rasp of the steel edgeagainst a round stone, the small

plants singing !ith lifted faces, and

the click of the sundial as one hour

s!eeps into the ne4t.

$c% 'illy ollins


78/100

&he Only )ay In E'istence

(he early sun is so pale and shado!y,


79/100

* could be looking up at a ghost

in the shape of a !indo!,

a tall, rectangular spirit

looking do!n at me in bed,

about to demand that * aenge

the murder of my father.

'ut the morning light is only the first

line

in the play of this day--

the only day in e4istence--

the opening chord of its long song,

or think of !hat is permeating

the thin bedroom curtains

as the beginning of a lecture

* !ill listen to until it is dark,


80/100

a curious student in a >-neck s!eater,

angled into the !ooden chair of his

life,

ready !ith notebook and a che!ed-up

pencil,

uiet as a goldfish in !inter,

serious as a compass at sea,

eager to absorb !hateer lesson

this damp, oercast (uesday

has to teach me,

here in the spacious classroom of the

!orld

!ith its long !alls of glass,

its heay, lo!-hung ceiling.

$c% 'illy ollins


81/100

3ightcl$"

6ou are so beautiful and * am a fool

to be in loe !ith you

is a theme that keeps coming up

in songs and poems.

(here seems to be no room forariation.

* hae neer heard anyone sing

* am so beautiful

and you are a fool to be in loe !ithme,

een though this notion has surely


82/100

crossed the minds of !omen and men

alike.

6ou are so beautiful, too bad you are afool

is another one you don+t hear.

0r, you are a fool to consider me

beautiful.

(hat one you !ill neer hear,

guaranteed.

For no particular reason this afternoon

* am listening to &ohnny 2artman

!hose dark oice can curl around

the concepts on loe, beauty, and

foolishness

like no one else+s can.


83/100

*t feels like smoke curling up from a

cigarette

someone left burning on a baby grandpiano

around three o+clock in the morning#

smoke that billo!s up into the bright

lights

!hile out there in the darkness

some of the beautiful fools hae

gathered

around little tables to listen,

some !ith their eyes closed,

others leaning for!ard into the music

as if it !ere holding them up,

or t!irling the loose ice in a glass,

slipping by degrees into a rhythmic

dream.


84/100

6es, there is all this foolish beauty,

borne beyond midnight,

that has no desire to go home,

especially no! !hen eeryone in the

room

is !atching the large man !ith the

tenor sa4

that hangs from his neck like a golden

fish.

2e moes for!ard to the edge of thestage

and hands the instrument do!n to me

and nods that * should play.

1o * put the mouthpiece to my lips

and blo! into it !ith all my liing

breath.


85/100

We are all so foolish,

my long bebop solo begins by saying,

so damn foolish

!e hae become beautiful !ithout

een kno!ing it.

$c% 'illy ollins

&hesa$r$s

*t could be the name of a prehistoric

beast

that roamed the )aleo8oic earth, rising

up

on its hind legs to sho! off its large

ocabulary,

or some loer in a myth !ho is

metamorphosed into a book.


86/100

*t means treasury, but it is 3ust a place

!here !ords congregate !ith theirrelaties,

a big park !here hundreds of family

reunions

are al!ays being held,

house, home, abode, d!elling,

lodgings, and digs,

all sharing the same picnic basket and

thermos#

hairy, hirsute, !oolly, furry, fleecy, and

shaggy

all running a sack race or thro!ing

horseshoes,

inert, static, motionless, fi4ed and

immobile


87/100

standing and kneeling in ro!s for a

group photograph.

2ere father is ne4t to sire and brother

close

to sibling, separated only by fine

shades of meaning.

And eery group has its odd cousin,

the one

!ho traeled the farthest to be here:

astereognosis, polydipsia, or some

eleen

syllable, unpronounceable substitute

for the !ord tool.

"en their o!n relaties hae to

suint at their name tags.


88/100

* can see my o!n copy up on a high

shelf.* rarely open it, because * kno! there

is no

such thing as a synonym and because

* get nerous

around people !ho al!ays assemble

!ith their o!n kind,

forming clubs and nailing signs to

closed front doors

!hile others huddle alone in the dark

streets.

* !ould rather see !ords out on their

o!n, a!ay

from their families and the !arehouse

of Roget,


89/100

!andering the !orld !here they

sometimes fall

in loe !ith a completely different!ord.

1urely, you hae seen pairs of them

standing foreer

ne4t to each other on the same lineinside a poem,

a small chapel !here !eddings like

these,

bet!een perfect strangers, can take

place.

$c% 'illy ollins


90/100

6or Bartle"y &he Scrivener


91/100

="ery time !e get a big gale around

here

some people 3ust refuse to battendo!n.=

!e estimate that

ice skating into a si4ty

mile an hour !ind, fully e4erting

the legs and s!inging arms

you !ill be pushed back!ard

an inch eery t!enty minutes.

in a fe! days, depending on

the si8e of the lake,

the backs of your skates


92/100

!ill touch land.

you !ill then fall on your ass

and be blo!n into the forest.

if you gather enough speed

by flapping your arms

and keeping your skates pointed

you !ill catch up to other

flying people !ho refused to batten

do!n.

you !ill e4change kno!ing !aes

as you ride the great !ind north.

$c% 'illy ollins


93/100

)hara(he !ay the dog trots out the front

door

eery morning

!ithout a hat or an umbrella,!ithout any money

or the keys to her doghouse


94/100

neer fails to fill the saucer of my

heart

!ith milky admiration.

Who proides a finer e4ample

of a life !ithout encumbrance?

(horeau in his curtainless hut

!ith a single plate, a single spoon5

Gandhi !ith his staff and his holy

diapers5

0ff she goes into the material !orld

!ith nothing but her bro!n coat

and her modest blue collar,

follo!ing only her !et nose,

the t!in portals of her steady

breathing,


95/100

follo!ed only by the plume of her tail.

*f only she did not shoe the cat aside

eery morning

and eat all his food

!hat a model of self-containment she

!ould be,

!hat a paragon of earthly

detachment.

*f only she !ere not so eager

for a rub behind the ears,

so acrobatic in her !elcomes,

if only * !ere not her god.

$c% 'illy ollins


96/100

&he Iron Bridge

* am standing on a disused iron bridge

that !as erected in @BC,

according to the iron plaue bolted

into a beam,

the year my mother turned one.

*magine--a mother in her infancy,

and she !as a anadian infant at that,

one of the great infants of the

proince of 0ntario.

'ut here * am leaning on the rusted

railing

looking at the !ater belo!,


97/100

!hich is flat and reflectie this

morning,

sky-blue and streaked !ith highclouds,

and the more * look at the !ater,

!hich is like a talking picture,

the more * think of @BC

!hen !orkmen in shirts and caps

rieted this iron bridge together

across a thin channel 3oining t!o lakes

!here !ildflo!ers blo! along the

shore no!

and pairs of s!ans float in the leafy

coes.

@BC--my mother !as so tiny


98/100

she could hae fit into one of those

oal

baskets for holding apples,

!hich her mother could hae lined

!ith a soft cloth

and placed on the kitchen table

so she could keep an eye on infant

atherine

!hile she scrubbed potatoes or shelled

a bag of peas,

the !ay * am keeping an eye on that

cormorant

!ho 3ust broke the glassy surface

and is moing a!ay from me and the

iron bridge,

s!ieling his curious head,


99/100

slipping out to !here the sun rakes

the !ater

and filters through the trees thatcro!d the shore.

And no! he dies,

disappears belo! the surface,

and !hile * !ait for him to pop up,

* picture him flying under!ater !ith

his strange !ings,

as * picture you, my tiny mother,

!ho disappeared last year,

flying some!here !ith your strange

!ings,

your !ide eyes, and your heay !et

dress,


100/100

kicking deeper do!n into a lake

!ith no end or name, some boundless

proince of !ater.

$c% 'illy ollins

poetry picks

Documents