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1. Accidents The barber has accidentally taken off an ear. It lies like Something newborn on the floor in a nest of hair. Oops, says the barber, but it musn’t’ve been a very good Ear, it came off with very little complaint. It wasn’t, says the customer, it was always overly waxed. I tried putting a wick […]...
2. 246. Song-Robin Shure in Hairst HIS face with smile eternal drest, Just like the Landlord’s to his Guest’s, High as they hang with creaking din, To index out the Country Inn. He looked just as your sign-post Lions do, With aspect fierce, and quite as harmless too. A head, pure, sinless quite of brain and soul, The very image of […]...
3. Fairyland If people came to know where my king’s palace is, it would vanish Into the air. The walls are of white silver and the roof of shining gold. The queen lives in a palace with seven courtyards, and she Wears a jewel that cost all the wealth of seven kingdoms. But let me tell you, […]...
4. Tu m'as donnè une arme Poem by Anne-Marie Derése. Tu m’as donnè une arme Dans le troupeau humain, Tu as lancè tes mots Commes des pierres. Les blessures furent Bonnes lècher. Tu as rèveillè le feulement. Tu t’es donnè comme on prend....
5. Jack's Legacy The critic gushed and said, “Just like Jack, So raw, I never thought to see another writer just Like Kerouac!” Kerouac, who the fuck is he? A writer? Christ, that’s a laugh, compare me to a writer! Let’s face it I’m no hack, I’m not so much to look at either, But maybe Jack took […]...
6. Je Suis Poem by Anne-Marie Derése Je suis le fer rouge Sur l’èpaule du condamnè, Le gibet et la corde, La hache et le billot, Le fouet et la croix. Je suis la dent du lion Dans la chair de la gazelle. J’ai dans mes veines Le sang de nègriers. Bourreau, J’ai mèritè la faim des loups. […]...
7. Song Of One Of The Girls Here in my heart I am Helen; I’m Aspasia and Hero, at least. I’m Judith, and Jael, and Madame de Stael; I’m Salome, moon of the East. Here in my soul I am Sappho; Lady Hamilton am I, as well. In me Recamier vies with Kitty O’Shea, With Dido, and Eve, and poor Nell. I’m […]...
8. The Saint And The Hunchback Hunchback. Stand up and lift your hand and bless A man that finds great bitterness In thinking of his lost renown. A Roman Caesar is held down Under this hump. Saint. God tries each man According to a different plan. I shall not cease to bless because I lay about me with the taws That […]...
9. Pardon Poem by Anne-Marie Derése. Pardon si j’ai ri Dans vos chapelles, Pardon si j’ai claquè La porte de l’hЩpital, Pardon pour le bruit, Pour la vie, Pour l’amour auquel Je n’avais pas droit. Pardon de ne pas vous ressembler....
10. The Man from Iron Bark It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town, He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down. He loitered here he loitered there, till he was like to drop, Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber’s shop. “Ere! shave my beard and whiskers off, I’ll be a […]...
11. The Black Art A woman who writes feels too much, Those trances and portents! As if cycles and children and islands Weren’t enough; as if mourners and gossips And vegetables were never enough. She thinks she can warn the stars. A writer is essentially a spy. Dear love, I am that girl. A man who writes knows too […]...
12. Now I sit here on the 2nd floor Hunched over in yellow Pajamas Still pretending to be A writer. Some damned gall, At 71, My brain cells eaten Away by Life. Rows of books Behind me, I scratch my thinning Hair And search for the Word. For decades now I have infuriated the Ladies, The critics, […]...
13. On – On – Poet I to the open road, You to the hunchbacked street – Which of us two Shall the earlier rue That day we chanced to meet? I with a heart that’s sound, You with sick fancies of pain – Which of us two Would the earlier rue If we chanced to meet again? I jingle homely […]...
14. Rhénane d'Automne Mon verre est plein d’un vin trembleur comme une flamme Ecoutez la chanson lente d’un batelier Qui raconte avoir vu sous la lune sept femmes Tordre leurs cheveux verts et longs jusqu’à leurs pieds Debout chantez plus haut en dansant une ronde Que je n’entende plus le chant du batelier Et mettez près de moi […]...
15. Calamity in London ‘Twas in the year of 1897, and on the night of Christmas day, That ten persons’ lives were taken sway, By a destructive fire in London, at No. 9 Dixie Street, Alas! so great was the fire, the victims couldn’t retreat. In Dixie Street, No. 9, if was occupied by two families, Who were all […]...
16. "Ave Ceasar&quot Long ago the Gladiators, When the call to combat came, Marching past the massed spectators, Hailed the Emp’ror with acclaim! Voices ringing with the fury Of the strife so soon to be, Cried, “O Caesar, morituri Salutamus te!” Nowadays the massed spectators See the unaccustomed sight Legislative gladiators Marching to their last great fight; Young […]...
17. Lions Not enough study Has been done On old lions dying. Unable to feed themselves, Without pride, teeth Or claws, their death Is starvation. We don’t wonder What happens To predators past their prime, Pastures are For the meek, and Only reasoning primates Would contemplate Last rites For their ancient nemesis. The lion needs No winter […]...
18. De Coenatione Micae LOOK round: You see a little supper room; But from my window, lo! great Caesar’s tomb! And the great dead themselves, with jovial breath Bid you be merry and remember death....
19. OPEN LETTER TO ANDY C Sorry, Writer in Residence on the Great North Run The last thing I’d ever do is listen to your spin “You risk losing potential allies in your war against the philistines, Astley, Armitage, Duffy, Sansom, unashamedly provincial, Defiantly Un-Oxbridge, not the enemy!” Sorry, Andy, arse-licking’s not to my taste. I always thought it wasn’t yours, […]...
20. Psalm 89 part 2 v.7ff C. M. The power and majesty of God; or, Reverential worship. With rev’rence let the saints appear, And bow before the Lord; His high commands with rev’rence hear, And tremble at his word. How terrible thy glories be! How bright thine armies shine! Where is the power that vies with thee, Or truth compared […]...
21. The Flower Boat The fisherman’s swapping a yarn for a yarn Under the hand of the village barber, And her in the angle of house and barn His deep-sea dory has found a harbor. At anchor she rides the sunny sod As full to the gunnel of flowers growing As ever she turned her home with cod From […]...
22. In Charidemum YOU, Charidemus, who my cradle swung, And watched me all the days that I was young; You, at whose step the laziest slaves awake, And both the bailiff and the butler quake; The barber’s suds now blacken with my beard, And my rough kisses make the maids afeared; But with reproach your awful eyebrows twitch, […]...
23. WANTS POEMS AND HAS NEVER REJECTED ANYONE Eamer o’ Keefe with your tinge of brogue And Irish warmth, Daisy and Debjani With your karma and cool verse, I salute you. ( III ) “Ecoutez la voix du vent” – listen to the wind’s voice As Milosz commands “All your griefs, My sad ones, are in vain” but offering In recompense soaring sonatas […]...
24. Gallio's Song “And Gallio cared for none of these things.” Acts xviii. 17 “Little Foxes” Actions and Reactions. All day long to the judgment-seat The crazed Provincials drew All day long at their ruler’s feet Howled for the blood of the Jew. Insurrection with one accord Banded itself and woke, And Paul was about to open his […]...
25. November 6 Remember when Khrushchev said “We will bury you!” On the cover Of Time I thought he was Employing a metaphor As in “Braves Scalp Giants!” On the back page Of the Daily News I pictured the Russians Burying us under a mound Of all the rubble That rubles could buy When what he meant was […]...
26. January 31 (The sky is crumbling…) The sky is crumbling into millions of paper dots The wind blows in my face So I duck into my favorite barber shop And listen to Vivaldi and look in the mirror Reflecting the shopfront windows, Broadway And 104th, and watch the dots blown by the wind Blow into the faces of the walkers outside […]...
27. How Thought You That This Thing Could Captivate? How thought you that this thing could captivate? What are those graces that could make her dear, Who is not worth the notice of a sneer, To rouse the vapid devil of her hate? A speech conventional, so void of weight, That after it has buzzed about one’s ear, ‘Twere rich refreshment for a week […]...
28. At This Moment Of Time Some who are uncertain compel me. They fear The Ace of Spades. They fear Loves offered suddenly, turning from the mantelpiece, Sweet with decision. And they distrust The fireworks by the lakeside, first the spuft, Then the colored lights, rising. Tentative, hesitant, doubtful, they consume Greedily Caesar at the prow returning, Locked in the stone […]...
29. Externalism The Greatest Writer of to-day (With Maupassant I almost set him) Said to me in a weary way, The last occasion that I met him: “Old chap, this world is more and more Becoming bourgeois, blasé, blousy: Thank God I’ve lived so long before It got so definitely lousy.” Said I: “Old chap, I don’t […]...
30. Ave Caesar No bitterness: our ancestors did it. They were only ignorant and hopeful, they wanted freedom but wealth too. Their children will learn to hope for a Caesar. Or rather for we are not aquiline Romans but soft mixed colonists Some kindly Sicilian tyrant who’ll keep Poverty and Carthage off until the Romans arrive, We are […]...
31. Try carry the roads, Move along. A song Wears A long winter wind And i Reasons to believe Seasons to run, No regrets Try. – jude...
32. To try to speak, and miss the way To try to speak, and miss the way And ask it of the Tears, Is Gratitude’s sweet poverty, The Tatters that he wears A better Coat if he possessed Would help him to conceal, Not subjugate, the Mutineer Whose title is “the Soul.”...
33. Fragment at Tunbridge-Wells FOR He, that made, must new create us, Ere Seneca, or Epictetus, With all their serious Admonitions, Can, for the Spleen, prove good Physicians. The Heart’s unruly Palpitation Will not be laid by a Quotation; Nor will the Spirits move the lighter For the most celebrated Writer. Sweats, Swoonings, and convulsive Motions Will not be […]...
34. Let Me Die a Youngman's Death Let me die a youngman’s death Not a clean and inbetween The sheets holywater death Not a famous-last-words Peaceful out of breath death When I’m 73 And in constant good tumour May I be mown down at dawn By a bright red sports car On my way home From an allnight party Or when I’m […]...
35. Modern Love VII: She Issues Radiant She issues radiant from her dressing-room, Like one prepared to scale an upper sphere: By stirring up a lower, much I fear How deftly that oiled barber lays his bloom That long-shanked dapper Cupid with frisked curls Can make known women torturingly fair; The gold-eyed serpent dwelling in rich hair, Awakes beneath his magic whisks […]...
36. Hymn 147 The names and titles of Christ. From several scriptures. [‘Tis from the treasures of his word I borrow titles for my Lord; Nor art nor nature can supply Sufficient forms of majesty. Bright image of the Father’s face, Shining with undiminished rays; Th’ eternal God’s eternal Son, The heir and partner of his throne.] The […]...
37. The Child's faith is new The Child’s faith is new Whole like His Principle Wide like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes Never had a Doubt Laughs at a Scruple Believes all sham But Paradise Credits the World Deems His Dominion Broadest of Sovereignties And Caesar mean In the Comparison Baseless Emperor Ruler of Nought Yet swaying all Grown bye and […]...
38. The morns are meeker than they were The morns are meeker than they were The nuts are getting brown The berry’s cheek is plumper The Rose is out of town. The Maple wears a gayer scarf The field a scarlet gown Lest I should be old fashioned I’ll put a trinket on....
39. A happy lip breaks sudden A happy lip breaks sudden It doesn’t state you how It contemplated smiling Just consummated now But this one, wears its merriment So patient like a pain Fresh gilded to elude the eyes Unqualified, to scan...
40. From: A King Of Kings, A King Among The Kings Come, let us rejoice in James Joyce, in the greatness of this poet, king, and king of poets For he is our poor dead king, he is the monarch and Caesar of English, he is the veritable King of the King’s English The English of the life of the city, and the English of music; […]...