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8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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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 #$%&T,
"et it p there in
( )*+ x )) mimeo.
eep it comin" lie a miracle.
ah christ, writers are the most sicenin"
of all the lots-
yellowtoothed, slmpsholdered,
"tless, /ea0itten and
o0!ios . . . in tinertoy rooms
with their /a00y hearts
they tell s
what's wron" with the world
as if we didn't now that a cop's cl0
can crac the head
and that war is a dirtier "ame than
marria"e . . .
or down in a 0asement 0ar
hidin" from a wife who doesn't appreciate him
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and children he doesn't
want
he tells s that his heart is drownin" in
!omit. hell, all or hearts are drownin" in !omit,
in por salt, in 0ad !erse, in so""y
lo!e.
0t he thins he's alone and
he thins he's special and he thins he's Rim0ad
and he thins he's
Pond.
and death- how a0ot death1 did yo now
that we all ha!e to die1 e!en 2eats died, e!en
3ilton-
and 4. ThomasT&EY 2$##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
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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 &$4E their women from yo
their wi!es, xwi!es, da"hters, maids, so forth,
0ecase they'!e read yor poems and
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and
he WR$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,
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Bcome on o!er to dinner
sometime.B
0t he doesn't say when or
where. and then yo
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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
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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
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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 $
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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
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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
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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
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"et it all
e!er.
7c8 Charles Howsi
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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 $CE
0om0in"
explodin" smashin" into thin"s
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and the rain
9st woldn't
TOP
and all the roofs leaed
dishpans,
cooin" pots
were placed all a0otI
they dripped lodly
and had to 0e emptied
a"ain and
a"ain.
the rain came p o!er the street cr0in"s,
across the lawns, clim0ed p the steps and
entered the hoses.
there were mops and 0athroom towels,
and the rain often came p thro"h the
toilets:000lin", 0rown, craAy,whirlin",
and all the old cars stood in the streets,
cars that had pro0lems startin" on a
snny day,
and the 9o0less men stood
looin" ot the windows
at the old machines dyin"
lie li!in" thin"s ot there.
the 9o0less men,
failres in a failin" time
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were imprisoned in their hoses with their
wi!es and children
and their
pets.
the pets refsed to "o ot
and left their waste in
stran"e places.
the 9o0less men went mad
con
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ntil they
seperated.
B$'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
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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:
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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,
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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
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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
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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
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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
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stories.
one "irl said that
when the rain0ow
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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
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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
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in there and
sometimes a sol,
and the women 0rea
!ases a"ainst the walls
and the men drin too
mch
and no0ody
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the 9nyards
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The Most
here comes the
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as all the
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!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
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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
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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.
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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 $'ll lie down 0ehind the coch
for ? or @ days.
they'll
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$'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
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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!
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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!
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#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:
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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
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'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
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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
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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.
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(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.
$c% &orge Luis 'orges
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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!
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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 $s44
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to$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,
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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,
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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,
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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.
$c% &orge Luis 'orges
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
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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!
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*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.
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(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,
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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.
$c% &orge Luis 'orges
(he 0ther (iger
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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.
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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
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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
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(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.
$c% &orge Luis 'orges
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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,
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*+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,
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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,
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*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;
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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(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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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,
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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.
$c% &orge Luis 'orges
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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.
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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.
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
68/100
$c% &oseph 'rodsky
&5rnfallet
(here is a meado! in 1!eden
!here * lie smitten,
eyes stained !ith clouds+
!hite ins and outs.
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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!
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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,
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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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
78/100
&he Only )ay In E'istence
(he early sun is so pale and shado!y,
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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,
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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.
$c% 'illy ollins
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
81/100
3ightcl$"
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
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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.
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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.
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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.
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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.
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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.
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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,
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
90/100
6or Bartle"y &he Scrivener
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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
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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,
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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!,
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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,
8/17/2019 Poetry Picks
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,
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100/100
kicking deeper do!n into a lake
!ith no end or name, some boundless
proince of !ater.
$c% 'illy ollins