New York
Along the Hard Crest of the Snowdrift
Along the hard crest of the snowdrift
to my white, mysterious house,
both of us quiet now,
keeping silent as we walk.
And sweeter than any song
this dream we now complete—
the trembling of branches we brush against,
the soft ringing of your spurs.
Anna Akhmatova (1889-1966)
Translated from the Russian by Jane Kenyon
"Along the Hard Crest of the Snowdrift" by Anna Akhmatova, translated by Jane Kenyon, from From Room to Room. Copyright © 1978 by Jane Kenyon. Reprinted with the permission of Donald Hall.
from Crazy Horse Speaks
I wear the color of my skin
like a brown paper bag
wrapped around a bottle.
Sleeping between
the pages of dictionaries
your language cuts
tears holes in my tongue
until I do not have strength
to use the word "love."
What could it mean
in this city where everyone is
Afraid-of-Horses?
Sherman Alexie
"Crazy Horse Speaks" (excerpt) from Native American Literature, published by Harper Collins. Copyright © 1990 by Sherman Alexie. Reprinted by permission of the author.
To My Love, Combing Her Hair
To my love, combing her hair
without a mirror, facing me,
A psalm: you've shampooed your hair, an entire
forest of pine trees is filled with yearning on your head.
Calmness inside and calmness outside
have hammered your face between them to a tranquil copper.
The pillow on your bed is your spare brain,
tucked under your neck for remembering and dreaming.
The earth is trembling beneath us, love.
Let's lie fastened together, a double safety-lock.
Yehuda Amichai
Translated by Chana Bloch and Stephen Mitchell
"To My Love, Combing Her Hair" by Yehuda Amichai, translated by Chana Bloch and Stephen Mitchell from The Selected Poetry of Yehuda Amichai. Copyright © 1986 by Chana Bloch and Stephen Mitchell. Reprinted with permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
Reflective
I found a
weed
that had a
mirror in it
and that
mirror
looked in at
a mirror
in
me that
had a
weed in it
A.R. Ammons
"Reflective" from The Really Short Poems of A.R. Ammons. Copyright © 1990. Reprinted by permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Magic Words
after Nalungiaq
In the very earliest time,
when both people and animals lived on earth,
a person could become an animal if he wanted to
and an animal could become a human being.
Sometimes they were people
and sometimes animals
and there was no difference.
All spoke the same language.
That was the time when words were like magic.
The human mind had mysterious powers.
A word spoken by chance
might have strange consequences.
It would suddenly come alive
and what people wanted to happen could happen—
all you had to do was say it.
Nobody could explain this:
That's the way it was.
Translated from the Inuit by Edward Field
Reprinted with the permission of Edward Field.
Song of Solomon 2:8-13
The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh leaping
upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.
My beloved is like a roe, or a young hart: behold,
he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the
windows, shewing himself through the lattice.
My beloved spake, and said unto me,
Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over, and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of
birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs,
and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell.
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
The King James Bible (1611)
Western Wind
Western wind when wilt thou blow
the small rain down can rain
Christ if my love were in my arms
and I in my bed again
Anonymous (early 16th Century)
from The Painter
Sitting between the sea and the buildings
He enjoyed painting the sea's portrait.
But just as children imagine a prayer
Is merely silence, he expected his subject
To rush up the sand, and, seizing a brush,
Plaster its own portrait on the canvas.
So there was never any paint on his canvas
Until the people who lived in the buildings
Put him to work. "Try using the brush
As a means to an end. Select, for a portrait,
Something less angry and large, and more subject
To a painter's moods, or perhaps, to a prayer."
John Ashbery (b. 1927)
"The Painter" (excerpt) from The Mooring of Starting Out by John Ashbery. Copyright © 1997. Reprinted with the permission of The Ecco Press.
from Variation on the Word Sleep
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.
Margaret Atwood (b. 1939)
"Variation on the Word Sleep" from Selected Poems II: 1976-1986 by Margaret Atwood, published by Houghton Mifflin. Copyright © 1987. Reprinted by permission of the author.
Casabianca
Love's the boy stood on the burning deck
trying to recite "The boy stood on
the burning deck." Love's the son
stood stammering elocution
while the poor ship in flames went down.
Love's the obstinate boy, the ship,
even the swimming sailors, who
would like a schoolroom platform, too,
or an excuse to stay
on deck. And love's the burning boy.
Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979)
"Casabianca" from The Complete Poems: 1927-1979 by Elizabeth Bishop. Copyright © 1965 by Elizabeth Bishop. Copyright © 1979, 1983 by Alice Helen Methfessel. Reprinted with the permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux, Inc.
from Ceres Looks at the Morning
I wake slowly. Already
my body is a twilight: Solid. Gold.
At the edge of a larger darkness. But outside
my window
a summer day is beginning. Apple trees
appear, one by one. Light is pouring
into the promise of fruit.
Beautiful morning
look at me as a daughter would
look: with that love and that curiosity:
as to what she came from.
And what she will become.
Eavan Boland
"Ceres Looks at the Morning" from The Lost Land by Eavan Boland. Copyright © 1998. Reprinted by permission of W. W. Norton & Co., Inc.
To My Dear and Loving Husband
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then tee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persevere
That when we live no more, we may live ever.
Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672)
from Veridian
|
at the bottom of this high world above it all we draw the lion. picket our stand and make our testament boy girl woman warrior elder statesman gunsmith technician food engineer shamir shama shaman we are all gathered here |
Kamau Brathwaite
"Veridian" (excerpt) from Middle Passages by Kamau Brathwaite. Copyright © 1992. Reprinted by permission of Bloodaxe Books.
Speech to the Young
Speech to the Progress-Toward
(Among Them Nora and Henry III)
Say to them,
say to the down-keepers,
the sun-slappers,
the self-soilers,
the harmony-hushers,
"Even if you are not ready for day
it cannot always be night."
You will be right.
For that is the hard home-run.
Live not for battles won.
Live not for the-end-of-the-song.
Live in the along.
Gwendolyn Brooks (b. 1917)
"Speech to the Young" by Gwendolyn Brooks, from BLACKS (Chicago, IL: Third World Press, 1991). Copyright © 1991 by Gwendolyn Brooks Blakely. Reprinted with the permission of the author.
from A Red, Red Rose
O my luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;O my luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dryRobert Burns (1759-1796)
So We'll Go No More A Roving
So, we'll go no more a roving
so late into the night,Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824)
Lilac Time
The winter was fierce, my dear,
Snowy and blowy and cold,A heart-breaker and record-breaker,
And I am feeble and old.But now it is lilac time.
Come out in the sweet warm air,Come and I'll gather flowers
To put in your beautiful hair.Let's make a bouquet of lilac
For our old bedside table.Then the fragrance in the night
Will make me form-i-dable.Hayden Carruth (b. 1921)
"Lilac Time" from Scrambled Eggs & Whiskey by Hayden Carruth. Copyright © 1996. Reprinted with permission of Copper Canyon Press.
Please Give This Seat to an Elderly or Disabled Person
I stood during the entire journey:
nobody offered me a seat
although I was at least a hundred years older than anyone else on board,
although the signs of at least three major afflictions
were visible on me:
Pride, Loneliness, and Art.
Nina Cassian (b. 1924)
Translated by Naomi Lazard
"Please Give This Seat to an Elderly or Disabled Person" by Nina Cassian, translated by Naomi Lazard, from Life Sentence: Selected Poems by Nina Cassian, edited by William Jay Smith. Coypright © 1990 by Nina Cassian. Used by permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Autumn Leaves
The dead piled up, thick, fragrant, on the fire escape.
My mother ordered me again, and again, to sweep it clean.
All that blooms must fall. I learned this not from the Tao,
but from high school biology.Oh, the contradictions of having a broom and not a dustpan!
I swept the leaves down, down through the iron grille
and let the dead rain over the Wong family's patio.
And it was Achilles Wong who completed the task.
We called her:The-one-who-cleared-away-another-family's-autumn.
She blossomed, tall, benevolent, notwithstanding.
Marilyn Chin (b. 1955)
"Autumn Leaves" from The Phoenix Gone, the Terrace Empty by Marilyn Chin. Copyright © 1994. Reprinted by permission of Milkweed Editions.
You Called Me Corazón
That was enough
for me to forgive you.
To spirit a tiger
from its cell.
Called me corazón
in that instant before
I let go the phone
back to its cradle.
You voice small.
Heat of your eyes,
how I would've placed
my mouth on each.
Said corazón
and the word blazed
like a branch of jacaranda.
Sandra Cisneros
"You Called Me Corazón" from Loose Woman by Sandra Cisneros. Copyright © 1994. Published by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., and originally in hardcover by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Reprinted by permission of Susan Bergholz Literary Services, New York. All rights reserved. No further reproduction or distribution of this material is permitted.
Hedgehog
He ambles along like a walking pin cushion,
Stops and curls up lie a chestnut burr.
He's not worried because he's so little.
Nobody is going to slap him around.
Chu Chen Po (ninth century)
Translated from the Chinese by Kenneth Rexroth
"Hedgehog" by Chu Chen Po, translated by Kenneth Rexroth, from 100 More Poems from the Chinese. Copyright © 1970 by Kenneth Rexroth. Reprinted with the permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.
from Grasmere
for Louis Squires
Rainstorms that blacken like a headache
where mosses thicken, and the mornings
smell of jonquils, the stillness
of hung fells thronged with the primaveral
noise of waterfalls—contentment
pours in spate from every slope; the lake fills,
kingcups drown, and still it rains,
the sheep graze, their black lambs bounce
and skitter in the wet: such weather
one cannot say, here, why
one is still so happy.
Amy Clampitt (1920-1994)
"Grasmere" (excerpt) from Archaic Figure by Amy Clampitt. Copyright © 1987. Reprinted with the permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
Let there be new flowering
let there be new flowering
in the fields let the fields
turn mellow for the men
let the men keep tender
through the time let the time
be wrested from the war
let the war be won
let love be
at the end
Lucille Clifton (b. 1936)
"Let there be new flowering" from good woman: poems and a memoir 1969-1980 by Lucille Clifton. Copyright © 1987. Reprinted with the permission of BOA Editions, Ltd.
Hunger
The fox you lug over your shoulder
in a dark sack
has cut a hole with a knife
and escaped.
The sudden lightness makes you think
you are stronger
as you walk back to your small cottage
through a forest that covers the world.
Billy Collins
"Hunger" from The Apple that Astonished Paris by Billy Collins. Copyright © 1998. Reprinted with the permission of the University of Arkansas Press.
from Marriage
When she introduces me to her parents
back straightened, hair finally combed, strangled by a tie,
should I sit knees together on their 3rd degree sofa
and not ask Where's the bathroom?
How else to feel other than I am,
often thinking Flash Gordon soap—
O how terrible it must be for a young man
seated before a family and the family thinking
We never saw him before! He wants our Mary Lou!
After tea and homemade cookies they ask What do you do for a living?
Gregory Corso (b. 1930)
"Marriage" (excerpt) from The Happy Birthday of Death by Gregory Corso. Copyright © 1960 and renewed 1988. Reprinted with the permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.
A Man Said to the Universe
A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
Stephen Crane (1871-1900)
For Friendship
For friendship
make a chain that holds,
to be bound to
others, two by two,
a walk, a garland,
handed by hands
that cannot move
unless they hold.
Robert Creeley (b. 1926)
"For Friendship" from The Collected Poems of Robert Creeley 1945-1975 by Robert Creeley. Copyright © 1983. Reprinted with the permission of the author and the University of California Press.
love is a place
love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places
yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds
E.E. Cummings (1894-1962)
"love is a place" by E.E. Cummings from Complete Poems 1904-1962, edited by George James Firmage. Copyright © 1935, 1963, 1991 by the Trustees for the E.E. Cummings Trust. Copyright © 1978 by George James Firmage. Reprinted with the permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation.
from Carnival
A rose opens in my heart.
A cuckoo sings in my throat.
A fledgling leaps from my nest.
A dolphin plunges through my deepest thoughts.
Nuala Ni Dhomnaill
Translated by Paul Muldoon
"Carnival" (excerpt) from The Astrakhan Cloak. Copyright © 1992 by Paul Muldoon. Reprinted by permission of Wake Forest University Press.
'Hope' is the thing with feathers
'Hope' is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
And sweetest—in the Gale is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—
I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.
Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
"Hope is the thing with feathers" Emily Dickinson from The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, edited by Thomas H. Johnson. Copyright © 1951, 1955, 1979, 1983 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. Reprinted with the permission of The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press.
Heat
O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.
Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air—
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.
Cut the heat—
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.
H.D. (Hilda Doolittle) (1886-1961)
"Heat" from Collected Poems 1912-1944 by H.D. (Hilda Doolittle). Copyright © 1982 by the Estate of Hilda Doolittle. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.
Happiness
A state you must dare not enter
with hopes of staying,quicksand in the marshes, and all
the roads leading to a castle
that doesn't exist.But there it is, as promised,
with its perfect bridge above
the crocodiles,and its doors forever open.
Stephen Dunn (b. 1939)
"Happiness" from New and Selected Poems 1974-1994 by Stephen Dunn. Copyright © 1989. Used by permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedius argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.
T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)
"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" (excerpt) from The Collected Poems 1909-1962. Reprinted with the permission of Faber & Faber, Inc.
Sandinista Avioncitos
The little airplanes of the heart
with their brave little propellers
What can they do
against the winds of darkness
even as butterflies are beaten back
by hurricanes
yet do not die
They lie in wait wherever
they can hide and hang
their fine wings folded
and when the killer-wind dies
they flutter forth again
into the new-blown light
live as leaves
Lawrence Ferlinghetti (b. 1919)
"Sandinista Advioncitos" from These Are My Rivers: New & Selected Poems, 1955-1993 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Copyright © 1993. Reprinted with the permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.
The Armful
For every parcel I stoop down to seize
I lose some other off my arms and knees,
And the whole pile is slipping, bottles, buns—
Extremes too hard to comprehend at once,
Yet nothing I should care to leave behind.
With all I have to hold with, I will do my best
To keep their building balanced at my breast.
I crouch down to prevent them as they fall;
Then sit down in the middle of them all.
I had to drop the armful in the road.
And try to stack them in a better load.
Robert Frost (1874-1963)
"The Armful" by Robert Frost from The Poetry of Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Latham. Copyright © 1928, 1969 by Henry Holt and Company, Inc., renewed 1956 by Robert Frost. Reprinted with the permission of the publishers.
from Daily Horoscope
4. Beware of things in duplicate...
Beware of things in duplicate:
a set of knives, the cufflinks in a drawer,
the dice, the pair of Queens, the eyes
of someone sitting next to you.
Attend that empty minute in the evening
when looking at the clock, you see
its hands are fixed on the same hour
you noticed at your morning coffee.
These are the moments to beware
when there is nothing so familiar
or so close that it cannot betray you:
a twin, an extra key, an echo,
your own reflection in the glass.
Dana Gioia
"Daily Horoscope" (excerpt) from IDaily Horoscope by Dana Gioia. Copyright © 1986. Reprinted with the permission of Graywolf Press.
First Memory
Long ago, I was wounded. I lived
to revenge myself
against my father, not
for what he was—
for what I was: from the beginning of time,
in childhood, I thought
that pain meant
I was loved.
It meant I loved.
Louise Glück (b. 1943)
"First Memory" from Ararat by Louise Glück. Copyright © 1990. Reprinted with the permission of The Ecco Press.
from Bed of Mint
A bed of mint
beneath the window
of the room where we sleep
will render the morning air
sharp and sweet.
Then we will roll over
like the waves and wake
to draw tea from the source
springing beneath the window.
Living sweet and sharp to each other.
Lorna Goodison
"Bed of Mint" (excerpt) from Turn Thanks by Lorna Goodison. Copyright © 1999. Reprinted with permission of the author and the University of Illinois Press.
Sew
She kneels on the floor, snip snip
in the church of scraps,
tissue like moth's wings,
pins in the cushion of her mouth,
basting and hemming
until it stands up like a person
made out of whole cloth.
Still, I like folded
on the bolt in the dark warehouse,
dreaming my shapes.
Donald Hall
"Sew" from Old and New Poems by Donald Hall, published by Ticknor & Fields/ Houghton Mifflin. Copyright © 1990. Reprinted by permission of the author.
from Emergence
A human mind is small when thinking
of small things.
It is large when embracing the maker
of walking, thinking and flying.
If I can locate the sense beyond desire,
I will not eat or drink
until I stagger into the earth
with grief.
I will locate the point of dawning
and awaken
with the longest day in the world.
Joy Harjo,
"Emergence" (excerpt) from Map to the Next World by Joy Harjo. Copyright © 2000. Reprinted by permission of W.W. Norton & Co. Inc.
Those Winter Sundays
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?
Robert Hayden (1913-1980)
"Those Winter Sundays" from Angle of Ascent: New and Collected Poems by Robert Hayden. Copyright © 1966. Reprinted by permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation.
The Hands
The poor hands, overworked and dry,
dressing the body like maids
who button the lady's silk shirt
and fan her with their palms.
The poor palms
with their geography of lines.
One is broken,
another tells us, short life.
It is just like the hands
to tell their stories without shame.
Even held down, the white knucklebones
assert themselves through the skin.
Linda Hogan
"The Hands" from Savings by Linda Hogan. Copyright © 1988. Reprinted by permission of Coffee House Press.
Sent on a Sheet of Paper with a Heart Shape Cut Out of the Middle of It
Empty, or open-hearted? Where
A full heart spoke once, now a strong
Outline is the most I dare:
A window opening onto fair
Shining meadows of hopefulness? Or long
Silence where there once was song,
Waves of remembrance in the darkening air.
John Hollander (b. 1929)
"Sent on a Sheet of Paper with a Heart Shape Cut Out of the Middle of It" from The Night Mirror by John Hollander, published by Atheneum. Copyright © 1971.
Luck
Sometimes a crumb falls
From the tables of joy,
Sometimes a bone
Is flung.
To some people
Love is given,
To others
Only heaven.
Langston Hughes (1902-1967)
"Luck" by Langston Hughes from The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, edited by Arnold Rampersad and David Roessel. Copyright © 1947 by Langston Hughes. Reprinted with the permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
The Bagel
I stopped to pick up the bagel
rolling away in the wind,
annoyed with myself
for having dropped it
as it were a portent.
Faster and faster it rolled,
with me running after it
bent low, gritting my teeth,
and I found myself doubled over
and rolling down the street
head over heels, one complete somersault
after another like a bagel
and strangely happy with myself.
David Ignatow (b. 1914)
"The Bagel" from Rescue the Dead by David Ignatow. Copyright © 1968. Reprinted with the permission of University Press of New England.
Two Haiku
Don't worry, spiders,I keep house
casually. Mosquito at my ear—Does it think
I'm deaf?Kobayashi Issa (1763-1827)
Translated from the Japanese by Robert Hass
"Don't worry, spiders..." and "Mosquito at my ear..." by Issa, from The Essential Haiku, edited by Robert Hass. Translation copyright © 1994 by Robert Hass. Reprinted by permission of The Ecco Press.
Take Hands
Take hands.
There is no love now.
But there are hands.
There is no joining now,
But a joining has been
Of the fastening of fingers
And their opening.
More than the clasp even, the kiss
Speaks loneliness,
How we dwell apart
And how love triumphs in this.
Laura (Riding) Jackson (1901-1991)
"Take Hands" from The Poems of Laura Riding: A New Edition from the 1938 Collection by Laura (Riding) Jackson. Copyright © 1938, 1980. Reprinted with the permission of Persea Books. In conformity with the late author's wish, her Board of Literary Management asks us to record that, in 1941, Laura (Riding) Jackson renounced, on grounds of linguistic principle, the writing of poetry: she had come to hold that "poetry obstructs general attainment to something better in our linguistic way-of-life than we have."
from Of Pairs
The mockingbirds, that pair, arrive,
one, and the other; glossily perch,
respond, respond, branch to branch.
One stops, and flies. The other flies.
Arrives, dips, in a blur of wings,
lights, is joined. Sings. Sings.
Actually, there are birds galore:
bowlegged blackbirds brassy as crows;
elegant ibises with inelegant cows;
hummingbirds' stutter on air;
tilted over the sea, a man-of-war
in a long arc without a feather's stir.
Josephine Jacobsen
"Of Pairs" (excerpt) from In the Crevice of Time: New and Collected Poems by Josephine Jacobsen. Copyright © 1995. Reprinted by permission of The Johns Hopkins University Press.
To the Bridge of Love
To the bridge of love,
old stone between tall cliffs
— eternal meeting place, red evening —,I come with my heart.
— My beloved is only water,that always passes away, and does not deceive,
that always passes away, and does not change,
that always passes away, and does not end.
Juan Ramon Jimenez (1881-1958)
translated by James Wright
"To the Bridge of Love" from Collected Poems by Juan Ramon Jimenez, translated by James Wright. Copyright © 1971 by James Wright. Reprinted by permission of University Press of New England.
from Men At Forty
Men at forty
Learn to close softly
The doors to rooms they will not be
Coming back to.
Donald Justice (b. 1925)
"Men At Forty" (excerpt) from New And Selected Poems by Donald Justice. Copyright © 1995. Reprinted with the permission of Alfred A. Knopf.
fromTo Autumn
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun:Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all the fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shellsWith a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er brimmed their clammy cells.John Keats (1795-1821)
Blackberry Eating
I love to go out in late September
among the fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries
to eat blackberries for breakfast,
the stalks very prickly, a penalty
they earn for knowing the black art
of blackberry-making; and as I stand among them
lifting the stalks to my mouth, the ripest berries
fall almost unbidden to my tongue,
as words sometimes do, certain peculiar words
like strengths and squinched,
many-lettered, on-syllabled lumps,
which I squeeze, squinch open, and splurge well
in the silent, startled, icy, black language
of blackberry-eating in late September.
Galway Kinnell (b. 1927)
"Blackberry Eating" from Mortal Acts, Mortal Words by Galway Kinnell. Copyright © 1980. Reprinted with the permission of Houghton Mifflin Company.
from The Round
Light splashed this morning
on the shell-pink anemones
swaying on their tall stems;
down blue-spiked veronica
light flowed in rivulets
over the humps of the honeybees;
this morning I saw light kiss
the silk of the roses
in their second flowering,
my late bloomers
flushed with their brandy.
A curious gladness shook me....
I can scarcely wait till tomorrow
when a new life begins for me,
as it does each day,
as it does each day.
Stanley Kunitz (b. 1905)
"The Round" (excerpt) from Passing Through: the Later Poems, New and Selected by Stanley Kunitz. Copyright © 1985. Used by permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
The Question
People always say to me
"What do you think you'd like to be
When you grow up?"
And I say, "Why,
I think I'd like to be the sky
Or be a plane or train or mouse
Or maybe a haunted house
Or something furry, rough and wild...
Or maybe I will stay a child."
Karla Kuskin (b. 1932)
"The Question" from Dog & Dragons, Trees & Dreams by Karla Kuskin. Originally appeared in In the Middle of the Trees. Copyright © 1958. Reprinted with permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
I Ask My Mother to Sing
She begins, and my grandmother joins her.
Mother and daughter sing like young girls.
If my father were alive, he would play
His accordion and swing like a boat.
I've never been in Peking, or the Summer Palace,
nor stood on the great Stone Boat to watch
the rain begin on Kuen Ming Lake, the picnickers
running away in the grass.
But I love to hear it sung:
how the waterlilies fill with rain until
they overturn, spilling water into water,
then rock back, and fill with more.
Both women have begun to cry,
But neither stops her song.
Li-Young Lee (b. 1957)
"I Ask My Mother to Sing" from Rose by Li-Young Lee. Copyright © 1986. Reprinted by permission of BOA Editions, Ltd.
Suspended
I had grasped God's garment in the void
But my hand slipped
On the rich silk of it.
The 'everlasting arms' my sister loved to remember
Must have upheld my leaden weight
From falling, even so,
For though I claw at empty air and feel
Nothing, no embrace,
I have not plummeted.
Denise Levertov (1923-1998)
"Suspended" from Evening Train by Denise Levertov. Copyright © 1992. Reprinted with the permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.
The Moon's the North Wind's Cooky
(What the little girl said)
The Moon's the North Wind's cooky.
He bites it, day by day,
Until there's but a rim of scraps,
That crumble all away.
The South Wind is a baker.
He kneads clouds in his den,
And bakes a crisp new moon that...greedy
North...Wind...eats...again!
Vachel Lindsay (1879-1931)
"The Moon's the North Wind's Cooky" from Collected Poems by Vachel Lindsay. Reprinted with the permission of Nicholas C. Lindsay on behalf of the Estate of Vachel Lindsay.
| Variación | | Variations |
| El remanso de aire | | The still waters of the air |
| bajo la rama del eco. | | under the bough of the echo. |
| El remanso del agua | | The still waters of the water |
| bajo fronda de luceros. | | under a frond of stars. |
| El remanso de tu boca | | The still waters of your mouth |
| bajo espesura de besos. | | under a thicket of kisses. |
Federico García Lorca (1899-1936)
Translated from the Spanish by Lysander Kemp
"Variations" ("Variación"), translated by Lysander Kemp, from Selected Poems by Federico García Lorca. Copyright © 1955 by New Directions Publishing Corporation. Reprinted with the permission of the publishers.
from Coal
Love is a word, another kind of open.
As the diamond comes into a knot of flame
I am Black because I come from the earth's inside
Now take my word for jewel in the open light.
Audre Lorde (1934-1992)
"Coal" (excerpt) from Collected Poems by Audre Lorde. Copyright © 1968, 1970, 1973. Used by permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
The Taxi
When I go away from you
The world beats dead
Like a slackened drum.
I call out for you against the jutted stars
And shout into the ridges of the wind.
Streets coming fast,
One after the other,
Wedge you away from me,
And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
So that I can no longer see your face.
Why should I leave you,
To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?
Amy Lowell (1874-1925)
from Untitled
There is no First or Last
Only equality
And who would rule
Joins the majority.
There is no Space or Time
Only intensity,
And tame things
Have no immensity.
Mina Loy (1882-1966)
"Untitled" (excerpt) from The Lost Lunar Baedeker by Mina Loy. Copyright © 1996 by the Estate of Mina Loy. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC. All rights reserved.
Caution: Users are warned that this work is protected under copyright laws and downloading is strictly prohibited. The right to reproduce or transfer the work via any medium must be secured with Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC.
Epigram V, xxxvi
Someone I flattered in a book pretends
he owes me nothing. Oh the trash I have for friends!
Martial
Translated by William Matthews
"Epigram V, xxxvi" from The Mortal City: 100 Epigrams by Martial, translated by William Matthews. Copyright © 1995 by William Matthews. Reprinted by permission of Ohio Review Books.
from Misgivings
Listen,
my wary one, it's far too late
to unlove each other. Instead let's cook
something elaborate and not
invite anyone to share it but eat it
all up very slowly.
William Matthews
"Misgivings" (excerpt) from After All: Last Poems by William Matthews. Copyright © 1998 by the Estate of William Matthews. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
A Renewal
Having used every subterfuge
To shake you, lies, fatigue, or even that of passion,
Now I see no way but a clean break.
I add that I am willing to bear the guilt.
You nod assent. Autumn turns windy, huge,
A clear vase of dry leaves vibrating on and on.
We sit, watching. When I next speak
Love buries itself in me, up to the hilt.
James Merrill (1926-1995)
"A Renewal" from Selected Poems 1946-1985 by James Merrill. Copyright © 1992. Reprinted with the permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
Separation
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
W.S. Merwin (b.1927)
"Separation" from The Moving Target by W.S. Merwin. Copyright © 1963. Reprinted by permission of Georges Borchardt Literary Agency for the author.
Encounter
We were riding through frozen fields in a wagon at dawn.
A red wing rose in the darkness.
And suddenly a hare ran across the road.
One of us pointed to it with his hand.
That was long ago. Today neither of them is alive,
Nor the hare, nor the man who made the gesture.
O my love, where are they, where are they going
The flash of a hand, streak of movement, rustle of pebbles.
I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder.
Wilno, 1936Czeslaw Milosz (b. 1911)
Translated from the Polish by Czeslaw Milosz and Lillian Vallee
"Encounter" from The Collected Poems 1931-1987 by Czeslaw Milosz. Copyright © 1988 by Czeslaw Milosz Royalties, Inc. Reprinted with the permission of The Ecco Press.
Wall
Simple and extraordinary wall.
Wall without weight and without color:
a hint of air in the air.
From a hillside, birds pass,
light passes like a swing,
the edge of winter passes
like a breawth of summer.
A leafy wind
and embodied shadows pass.
But a sigh does not break bounds,
arms do not meet,
and no heart-to-heart is made flesh.
Gabriela Mistral (1889-1957)
Translated from the Spanish by Maria Giachetti
"Wall," translated by Maria Giachetti, from Gabriela Mistral: A Reader by Gabriela Mistral. English translation copyright © 1993 by Maria Giachetti. Reprinted with the permission of White Pine Press.
Sonogram
Only a few weeks ago, the sonogram of Jean's womb
resembled nothing so much
as a satellite map of Ireland:
now the image
is so well-defined we can make out not only a hand
but a thumb;
on the road to Spiddal, a woman hitching a ride;
a gladiator in his net, passing judgement on the crowd.
Paul Muldoon (b. 1951)
"Sonogram" from The Annals of Chile by Paul Muldoon. Copyright © 1994. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC. All rights reserved.
Caution: Users are warned that this work is protected under copyright laws and downloading is strictly prohibited. The right to reproduce or transfer the work via any medium must be secured with Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC.
A Lover that Shows
A lover that shows himself only
in a dream I would call a liar.
But outside of dream I cannot
show myself my own desire.
You there, do not call yourself
a dream, just show yourself to me.
Myongok
Translated by Constantine Contogenis and Wolhee Choe
"A Lover that Shows" from Songs of the Kisaeng. Copyright © 1997 by Constantine Contogenis and Wolhee Choe. Reprinted with the permission of BOA Editions.
Confusion
When confusion reigns
and the waitress begins to think
that the hungry exist for her,
and the air hostess begins to think
that the passengers exist for her,
and the pharmacist begins to think
that the patient exists for her,
and the reviewer begins to think
that the author exists for her—
and not the other way about:
When confusion reigns
I too, my love, begin to think
that you were made for me.
Nino Nikolov (b. 1933)
Translated by Ewald Osers
"Confusion" from Contemporary East European Poetry: An Anthology, edited by Emery George. Published by Oxford University Press. Copyright © 1993 by Emery George. Reprinted by permission of the editor.
My Heart
I'm not going to cry all the time
nor shall I laugh all the time,
I don't prefer one "strain" to another.
I'd have the immediacy of a bad movie,
not just a sleeper, but also the big,
overproduced first-run kind. I want to be
at least as alive as the vulgar. And if
some aficionado of my mess says "That's
not like Frank!", all to the good! I
don't wear brown and gray suits all the time,
do I? No. I wear workshirts to the opera,
often. I want my feet to be bare,
I want my face to be shaven, and my heart—
you can't plan on the heart, but
the better part of it, my poetry, is open.
Frank O'Hara (1926-1966)
"My Heart" from The Collected Poems of Frank O'Hara by Frank O'Hara. Copyright © 1970 by Maureen Granville-Smith. Administratix of the estate of Frank O'Hara. Reprinted with the permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
Primitive
I have heard about the civilized,
the marriages run on talk, elegant and
honest, rational. But you and I are
savages. You come in with a bag,
hold it out to me in silence.
I know Moo Shu Pork when I smell it
and understand the message: I have
pleased you greatly last night. We sit
quietly, side by side, to eat,
the long pancakes dangling and spilling,
fragrant sauce dripping out,
and glance at each other askance, wordless,
the corners of our eyes clear as spear points
laid along the sill to show
a friend sits with a friend here.
Sharon Olds (b. 1942)
"Primitive" from Satan Says by Sharon Olds. Copyright © 1980. Reprinted by permission of University of Pittsburgh Press.
The Loon on Oak-Head Pond
cries for three days, in the gray mist.
cries for the north it hopes it can find.
plunges, and comes up with a slapping pickerel.
blinks its red eye.
cries again.
you come every afternoon, and wait to hear it.
you sit a long time, quiet, under the thick pines,
in the silence that follows.
as though it were your own twilight.
as though it were your own vanishing song.
Mary Oliver (b. 1935)
"The Loon on Oak-Head Pond" from House of Light by Mary Oliver. Copyright © 1990. Reprinted by permission of Beacon Press.
|
Komo to yu mo | | You Say, "I Will Come" |
| Komo to yu mo | | You say, "I will come." |
| Konu toki aru wo | | And you do not come. |
| Koji to yu wo | | Now you say, "I will not come." |
| Komu to wa mataji | | So I shall expect you. |
| Koji to yu mono wo | | Have I learned to understand you? |
Lady Otomo No Sakanoe (eighth century)
Translated from the Japanese by Kenneth Rexroth
"You Say 'I Will Come'" by Lady Otomo No Sakanoe from 100 Poems from the Japanese, translated by Kenneth Rexroth. Reprinted with the permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.
Aspects of Eve
To have been one
of many ribs
and to be chosen.
To grow into something
quite different
knocking finally
as a bone knocks
on the closed gates of the garden—
which unexpectedly
open.
Linda Pastan (b. 1932)
"Aspects of Eve" from Carnival Evening: New and Selected Poems 1968-1998 by Linda Pastan. Copyright © 1998. Used by permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
from I Am Vertical
But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
Sucking up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.
Sylvia Plath
"I am Vertical" (excerpt) by Sylvia Plath from The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath, edited by Ted Hughes. Copyright © 1966, 1994 by Ted Hughes. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
| Hermandad | | Brotherhood |
|
Homenaje a Claudio Ptolomeo | | Homage to Claudius Ptolemy |
| Soy hombre: duro poco | | I am a man: little do I last |
| y es enorme la noche. | | and the night is enormous. |
| Pero miro hacia arribo | | But I look up: |
| las estrellas escriben. | | the stars write. |
| Sin entender comprendo: | | Unknowing I understand: |
| tambiŽn soy escritura | | I too am written, |
| y en este mismo instante | | and at this very moment |
| alguien me deletrea. | | someone spells me out. |
Octavio Paz
Translated from the Spanish by Eliot Weinberger
"Brotherhood" ("Hermandad"), translated by Eliot Weinberger, from Octavio Paz: Collected Poems by Octavio Paz. Copyright © 1987, 1988 by Octavio Paz and Eliot Weinberger. Reprinted with the permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.
from The Passionate Man's Pilgrimage
Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,
My gown of glory, hope's true gage,
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
Sir Walter Raleigh (1552-1618)
from The Love Poems of Marichiko
You ask me what I thought about
Before we were lovers.
The answer is easy.
Before I met you
I didn't have anything to think about.
Kenneth Rexroth (1905-1982)
"The Love Poems of Marichiko" (excerpt) from The Morning Star by Kenneth Rexroth. Copyright © 1979. Reprinted with the permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.
If There is a Scheme
If there is a scheme,
perhaps this too is in the scheme,
as when a subway car turns on a switch,
the wheels screeching against the rails,
and the lights go out—
but are on again in a moment.
Charles Reznikoff (1894-1976)
"If There is a Scheme" from By the Waters of Manhattan by Charles Reznikoff. Copyright © 1959. Reprinted with the permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.
Delta
If you have taken this rubble for my past
raking though it for fragments you could sell
know that I long ago moved on
deeper into the heart of the matter
If you think you can grasp me, think again:
my story flows in more than one direction
a delta springing from the riverbed
with its five fingers spread
Adrienne Rich (b. 1929)
"Delta" from Time's Power: Poems 1985-1988 by Adrienne Rich. Copyright © 1989 by Adrienne Rich. Used by permission of the author and W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
The Sloth
In moving slow he has no Peer.
You ask him something in his Ear,
He thinks about it for a Year;
And, then, before he says a Word
There, upside down (unlike a Bird),
He will assume that you have Heard—
A most Ex-as-per-at-ing Lug.
But should you call his manner Smug,
He'll sigh and give his Branch a Hug;
Then off again to Sleep he goes,
Still swaying gently by his Toes,
And you just know he knows he knows.
Theodore Roethke (1908-1963)
"The Sloth" by Theodore Roethke, from The Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke. Copyright © 1950. Reprinted with the permission of Doubleday, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.
from Two Sketches
2. Footwork
Another night of musical beds:
parents always lose.When was it that the two girls sacked
out in our room, feet to head
and head to feet, as neatly packed
as a new pair of shoes?Mary Jo Salter
"Two Sketches" (excerpt) from Sunday Skaters by Mary Jo Salter. Copyright © 1994. Reprinted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf.
Thank You, My Dear
Thank you, my dear
You came, and you did
well to come: I needed
you. You have made
love blaze up in
my breast—bless you!
Bless you as often
as the hours have
been endless to me
while you were gone.
Sappho (c. 600 B.C.)
Translated from the Greek by Mary Barnard
"Thank You, My Dear," translated by Mary Barnard, fom Sappho: A New Translation. Copyright © 1958 by The Regents of the University of California. Reprinted with the Permission of University of California Press.
from Lost Unity
I am grass that has taken the form
Of your body where it has lain, losing
All other forms; and every face
Breeds yours in my quick eyes.
I lie halved: my body strives for you
As roots struggle for earth.
I remember a starfish
I lifted out of the sea, rays
Lowering tiers of hollow feet
That grasped for water. I let it go,
My hand a star.
Grace Schulman
"Lost Unity" (excerpt) from Burn Down the Icons by Grace Schulman, published by Princeton University Press. Copyright © 1976. Reprinted by permission of the author.
An Obsessive Combination of Ontological Inscape, Trickery and Love
Busy, with an idea for a code, I write
signals hurrying from left to right,
or right to left, by obscure routes,
for my own reasons; taking a word like "writes"
down tiers of tries until its secret rites
make sense; or until, suddenly, RATS
can amazingly and funnily become STAR
and right to left that small star
is mine, for my own liking, to stare
its five lucky pins inside out, to store
forever kindly, as if it were a star
I touched and a miracle I really wrote.
Anne Sexton (1928-1974)
"An Obsessive Combination of Ontological Inscape, Trickery and Love" from The Selected Poems by Anne Sexton. Copyright © 1959. Reprinted with the permission of Houghton Mifflin Company.
from Romeo and Juliet
Act III, Scene ii
Come, night, come, Romeo, come, thou day in night,
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-browed night,
Give me my Romeo, and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the graish sun.
Oh, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possessed it, and though I am sold,
Not yet enjoyed.
William Shakespeare (1566-1616)
from Watch Repair
A small wheel
Incandescent,
Shivering like
A pinned butterfly.
Hands
Pointing in all directions:
The crossroads
One enters
In a nightmare.
Higher than anyone
Number 12 presides
Like a beekeeper
Over the swarming honeycomb
Of the open watch.
Charles Simic (b. 1938)
"Watch Repair" (excerpt) from Return to a Place Lit By a Glass of Milk by Charles Simic. Copyright © 1974. Reprinted by permission of George Braziller Publishers.
I Finally Managed to Speak to Her
She was sitting across from me
on the bus. I said, "The trees
look so much greener in this part
of the country. In New York City
everything looks so drab." She said,
"It looks the same to me. Show me
a tree that's different." "That one,"
I said. "Which one?" she said.
"It's too late," I said; "we already
passed it." "When you find another one,"
she said, "let me know." And then
she went back to reading her book.
Hal Sirowitz
"I Finally Managed to Speak to Her" from My Therapist Said by Hal Sirowitz. Copyright © 1998 by Hal Sirowitz. Reprinted by permission of Crown Publishers, Inc.
from Lost Sister
In China,
even the peasants
named their first daughters
Jade—
the stone that in the far fields
could moisten the dry season,
could make men move mountains
for the healing green of the inner hills
glistening like slices of winter melon.
Cathy Song (b. 1955)
"Lost Sister" (excerpt) from Picture Bride by Cathy Song. Copyright © 1983. Reprinted with the permission of Yale University of Press.
from Antigone (lines 879-886)
CHORUS:
Love, never conquered in battle
Love the plunderer laying waste the rich!
Love standing the night-watch
guarding a girl's soft cheek,you range the seas, the shepherds' steadings off in the wilds—
not even the deathless gods can flee your onset,
nothing human born for a day—
whoever feels your grip is driven mad.
Sophocles (ca. 496-406 B.C.)
Translated from the Greek by Robert Fagles
"Antigone" (excerpt) from Three Theban Plays by Sophocles. Translated by Robert Fagles, translation copyright © 1982 by Robert Fagles. Used by permission of Viking Penguin, a division of Penguin Putnam, Inc.
0°
These nights when the wind blows,
I lay my head on the pillow,
I lay my head on white feathers,
white down, tag ends of Memory.
White feathers, white down,
I'm wrapped in a nightgown stiffening,
year by year, against the cold.
My arms hug the pillow, light
as a feather when we lie in love's
weather, but tonight I sleep alone,
the closet full of skeletons that grin
in the chilly breeze. Starving,
they climb love's zero by degrees,
as I will, the pillow dreaming
furious dreams. Dreams not my own.
Elizabeth Spires (b.1952)
"0°" from Annonciade by Elizabeth Spires. Copyright © 1989. Reprinted by permission of the author.
from The World is Round
I am Rose my eyes are blue
I am Rose and who are you
I am Rose and when I sing
I am Rose like anything
Gertrude Stein (1874-1946)
From The World is Round by Gertrude Stein. Reprinted with the permission of the Estate of Gertrude Stein.
from Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
I do not know which to prefer,
the beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)
"Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" from Collected Poems by Wallace Stevens. Copyright © 1923 and renewed 1951. Reprinted with the permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
Keeping Things Whole
In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.
When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.
We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.
Mark Strand (b.1934)
"Keeping Things Whole" from Selected Poems by Mark Strand. Copyright © 1979, 1980. Reprinted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
from Riding the A
Wheels
and rails
in their prime
collide,
make love in a glide
of slickness
and friction.
It is an elation
I wish to pro-
long.
The station
is reached
too soon.
May Swenson (1919-1989)
"Riding the A" (excerpt) by May Swenson. Copyright © 1959. Reprinted with the permission of The Literary Estate of May Swenson.
The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)
Espresso
Black coffee at sidewalk cafŽs
With chairs and tables like gaudy insects.
It is a precious sip we intercept
Filled with the same strength as Yes and No.
It is fetched out of gloomy kitchens
And looks into the sun without blinking.
In daylight a dot of wholesome black
Quickly drained by the wan patron...
Like those black drops of profundity
Sometimes absorbed by the soul
That give us a healthy push: Go!
The courage to open our eyes.
Tomas Tranströmer
Translated from the Swedish by May Swenson and Leif Sjöberg
"Espresso," translated by May Swenson and Leif Sjöberg, from Windows and Stones: Selected Poems by Tomas Tranströmer. Copyright © 1971 by University of Pittsburgh Press. Reprinted by permission of University of Pittsburgh Press.
Upon Shaving Off One's Beard
The scissors cut the long-grown hair;
The razor scrapes the remnant fuzz,
small-jawed, weak-chinned, big-eyed, I stare
At the forgotten boy I was.
John Updike (b. 1932)
"Upon Shaving Off One's Beard" from Collected Poems 1953-1993 by John Updike. Copyright © 1994. Reprinted with permission of Alfred A. Knopf.
The Talker
One person present steps on his pedal of speech
And, like a faulty drinking fountain, it spurts
All over the room in facts and puns and jokes,
On books, on people, on politics, on sports,
On everything. Two or three others, gathered
To chat, must bear his unending monologue
Between their impatient heads like a giant buzz
Of a giant fly, or magnanimous bullfrog
Croaking for all the frogs in the world. Amid
The screech of traffic or in a hubbub crowd
He climbs the decibels toward some glorious view.
I think he only loves himself out loud.
Mona Van Duyn
"The Talker" from If It Be Not I by Mona Van Duyn. Copyright © 1973. Reprinted with the permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
Lineage
My grandmothers were strong.
They followed plows and bent to toil.
They moved through fields sowing seed.
They touched earth and grain grew.
They were full of sturdiness and singing.
My grandmothers were strong.
My grandmothers are full of memories
Smelling of soap and onions and wet clay
With veins rolling roughly over quick hands
They have many clean words to say.
My grandmothers were strong.
Why am I not as they?
Margaret Walker
"Lineage" from This is My Century: New and Collected Poems by Margaret Walker. Copyright © 1989 by Margaret Walker Alexander. Reprinted by permission of The University of Georgia Press.
from Crossing Brooklyn Ferry
Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face!
Clouds of the west—sun there half and hour high—I see you also face
to face.Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious
you are to me!On the ferry boats, the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning
home, are more curious to me than you suppose,And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more
to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
To a Poor Old Woman
munching a plum on
the street a paper bag
of them in her hand
They taste good to her
They taste good
to her. They taste
good to her
You can see it by
the way she gives herself
to the one half
sucked out in her hand
Comforted
a solace of ripe plums
seeming to fill the air
They taste good to her
William Carlos Williams (1883-1963)
"To a Poor Old Woman" from Collected Poems 1909-1939, Volume I by William Carlos Williams. Copyright © 1938 by New Directions Publishing Corporation. Reprinted with the permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.
My Heart Leaps Up
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is the father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
Let No Charitable Hope
Now let no charitable hope
Confuse my mind with images
Of eagle and of antelope:
I am in nature none of these.
I was, being human, born alone;
I am, being woman, hard beset;
I live by squeezing from a stone
The little nourishment I get.
In masks outrageous and austere
The years go by in single file;
But none has merited my fear,
And none has quite escaped my smile.
Elinor Wylie (1885-1928)
"Let No Charitable Hope" from Collected Poems by Elinor Wylie. Copyright © 1932 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., renewed 1960 by Edwina C. Rubenstein. Reprinted with the permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
When You Are Old
When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
W.B. Yeats (1865-1939)
