The Journey Of A Poem Compared To All The Sad Variety Of Travel

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1. Travel The railroad track is miles away, And the day is loud with voices speaking, Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day But I hear its whistle shrieking. All night there isn’t a train goes by, Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming, But I see its cinders red on the sky, […]...
2. This Is A Poem I Wrote At Night, Before The Dawn This is a poem I wrote before I died and was reborn: – After the years of the apples ripening and the eagles soaring, After the festival here the small flowers gleamed like the first stars, And the horses cantered and romped away like the experience of skill; mastered and serene Power, grasped and governed […]...
3. Mayakovsky In New York: A Found Poem New York: You take a train that rips through versts. It feels as if the trains were running over your ears. For many hours the train flies along the banks Of the Hudson about two feet from the water. At the stops, Passengers run out, buy up bunches of celery, And run back in, chewing […]...
4. Cats Cats no less liquid than their shadows Offer no angles to the wind. They slip, diminished, neat through loopholes Less than themselves; will not be pinned To rules or routes for journeys; counter Attack with non-resistance; twist Enticing through the curving fingers And leave an angered empty fist. They wait obsequious as darkness Quick to […]...
5. A Song of Travel Where’s the lamp that Hero lit Once to call Leander home? Equal Time hath shovelled it ‘Neath the wrack of Greece and Rome. Neither wait we any more That worn sail which Argo bore. Dust and dust of ashes close All the Vestal Virgin’s care; And the oldest altar shows But an older darkness there. […]...
6. The Night Journey Hands and lit faces eddy to a line; The dazed last minutes click; the clamour dies. Beyond the great-swung arc o’ the roof, divine, Night, smoky-scarv’d, with thousand coloured eyes Glares the imperious mystery of the way. Thirsty for dark, you feel the long-limbed train Throb, stretch, thrill motion, slide, pull out and sway, Strain […]...
7. Journey's End In western lands beneath the Sun The flowers may rise in Spring, The trees may bud, the waters run, The merry finches sing. Or there maybe ’tis cloudless night, And swaying branches bear The Elven-stars as jewels white Amid their branching hair. Though here at journey’s end I lie In darkness buried deep, Beyond all […]...
8. Good Bye 1/ Remember the old drunk at your church Who elbowed me on the ribs And muttered something I undestood not? You said he meant he wanted to talk to God I returned his with mine and said “Me too…” 2/ You slipped away through the exit, Slowed down your gait and threw a faint smile. […]...
9. A Birthday Poem Just past dawn, the sun stands With its heavy red head In a black stanchion of trees, Waiting for someone to come With his bucket For the foamy white light, And then a long day in the pasture. I too spend my days grazing, Feasting on every green moment Till darkness calls, And with the […]...
10. Questions of Travel There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams Hurry too rapidly down to the sea, And the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops Makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion, Turning to waterfalls under our very eyes. For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains, Aren’t waterfalls yet, In a […]...
11. Night Journey Now as the train bears west, Its rhythm rocks the earth, And from my Pullman berth I stare into the night While others take their rest. Bridges of iron lace, A suddenness of trees, A lap of mountain mist All cross my line of sight, Then a bleak wasted place, And a lake below my […]...
12. Variety Many are good and wise; yet all for one only reckon, For ’tis conception, alas, rules them, and not a fond heart. Sad is the sway of conception, from thousandfold varying figures, Needy and empty but one it is e’er able to bring. But where creative beauty is ruling, there life and enjoyment Dwell; to […]...
13. AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY The day is ending, The night is descending; The marsh is frozen, The river dead. Through clouds like ashes The red sun flashes On village windows That glimmer red. The snow recommences; The buried fences Mark no longer The road o’er the plain; While through the meadows, Like fearful shadows, Slowly passes A funeral train. […]...
14. The Surface It has a hole in it. Not only where I concentrate. The river still ribboning, twisting up, into its re- Arrangements, chill enlightenments, tight-knotted quickenings And loosenings whispered messages dissolving the messengers The river still glinting-up into its handfuls, heapings. glassy Forgettings under the river of My attention And the river of my attention laying […]...
15. Root Cellar Nothing would sleep in that cellar, dank as a ditch, Bulbs broke out of boxes hunting for chinks in the dark, Shoots dangled and drooped, Lolling obscenely from mildewed crates, Hung down long yellow evil necks, like tropical snakes. And what a congress of stinks! Roots ripe as old bait, Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich, Leaf-mold, […]...
16. The Burning of the People's Variety Theatre, Aberdeen ‘Twas in the year of 1896, and on the 30th of September, Which many people in Aberdeen will long remember; The burning of the People’s Variety Theatre, in Bridge Place Because the fire spread like lightning at a rapid pace. The fire broke out on the stage, about eight o’clock, Which gave to the audience […]...
17. The Journey Anghiari is medieval, a sleeve sloping down A steep hill, suddenly sweeping out To the edge of a cliff, and dwindling. But far up the mountain, behind the town, We too were swept out, out by the wind, Alone with the Tuscan grass. Wind had been blowing across the hills For days, and everything now […]...
18. Leaves Compared With Flowers A tree’s leaves may be ever so good, So may its bar, so may its wood; But unless you put the right thing to its root It never will show much flower or fruit. But I may be one who does not care Ever to have tree bloom or bear. Leaves for smooth and bark […]...
19. Love Compared To A Game Of Tables Love is a game at tables where the dye Of mayds affections doth by fancie fly: If once you catch their fancie in a blott It’s tenne to one if then you enter not: You being a gamester then may boldly venter, And if you finde the point lye open enter: But marke them well, […]...
20. The Journey The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs; And the flowers were all merry by the roadside; And the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds While we busily went on our way and paid no heed. We sang no glad songs nor played; We went not to […]...
21. Hiawathas' photographing ( Part VI ) But my Hiawatha’s patience, His politeness and his patience, Unaccountably had vanished, And he left that happy party. Neither did he leave them slowly, With the calm deliberation, The intense deliberation Of a photographic artist: But he left them in a hurry, Left them in a mighty hurry, Stating that he would not stand it, […]...
22. The Blessed Virgin Compared To The Air We Breathe Wild air, world-mothering air, Nestling me everywhere, That each eyelash or hair Girdles; goes home betwixt The fleeciest, frailest-flixed Snowflake; that ‘s fairly mixed With, riddles, and is rife In every least thing’s life; This needful, never spent, And nursing element; My more than meat and drink, My meal at every wink; This air, which, […]...
23. Jugurtha How cold are thy baths, Apollo! Cried the African monarch, the splendid, As down to his death in the hollow Dark dungeons of Rome he descended, Uncrowned, unthroned, unattended; How cold are thy baths, Apollo! How cold are thy baths, Apollo! Cried the Poet, unknown, unbefriended, As the vision, that lured him to follow, With […]...
24. Travel I should like to rise and go Where the golden apples grow; Where below another sky Parrot islands anchored lie, And, watched by cockatoos and goats, Lonely Crusoes building boats; Where in sunshine reaching out Eastern cities, miles about, Are with mosque and minaret Among sandy gardens set, And the rich goods from near and […]...
25. In this World The hill pasture, an open place among the trees, Tilts into the valley. The clovers and tall grasses Are in bloom. Along the foot of the hill Dark floodwater moves down the river. The sun sets. Ahead of nightfall the birds sing. I have climbed up to water the horses And now sit and rest, […]...
26. A Farm-Picture THROUGH the ample open door of the peaceful country barn, A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding; And haze, and vista, and the far horizon, fading away....
27. Swallows Travel To And Fro SWALLOWS travel to and fro, And the great winds come and go, And the steady breezes blow, Bearing perfume, bearing love. Breezes hasten, swallows fly, Towered clouds forever ply, And at noonday, you and I See the same sunshine above. Dew and rain fall everywhere, Harvests ripen, flowers are fair, And the whole round earth […]...
28. Radio Poem You little box, held to me escaping So that your valves should not break Carried from house to house to ship from sail to train, So that my enemies might go on talking to me, Near my bed, to my pain The last thing at night, the first thing in the morning, Of their victories […]...
29. FOOD IN TRAVEL IF to her eyes’ bright lustre I were blind, No longer would they serve my life to gild. The will of destiny must be fulfilid, This knowing, I withdrew with sadden’d mind. No further happiness I now could find: The former longings of my heart were still’d; I sought her looks alone, whereon to build […]...
30. WINTER JOURNEY OVER THE HARTZ MOUNTAINS [The following explanation is necessary, in order To make this ode in any way intelligible. The Poet is supposed to Leave his companions, who are proceeding on a hunting expedition In winter, in order himself to pay a visit to a hypochondriacal Friend, and also to see the mining in the Hartz mountains. The ode […]...
31. Poem On His Birthday In the mustardseed sun, By full tilt river and switchback sea Where the cormorants scud, In his house on stilts high among beaks And palavers of birds This sandgrain day in the bent bay’s grave He celebrates and spurns His driftwood thirty-fifth wind turned age; Herons spire and spear. Under and round him go Flounders, […]...
32. Music To Me Is Like Days Once played to attentive faces Music has broken its frame Its bodice of always-weak laces The entirely promiscuous art Pours out in public spaces Accompanying everything, the selections Of sex and war, the rejections. To jeans-wearers in zipped sporrans It transmits an ideal body Continuously as theirs age. Warrens Of plastic tiles and mesh throats […]...
33. Jaws SEVEN nations stood with their hands on the jaws of death. It was the first week in August, Nineteen Hundred Fourteen. I was listening, you were listening, the whole world was Listening, And all of us heard a Voice murmuring: “I am the way and the light, He that believeth on me Shall not perish […]...
34. Pantoum Of The Great Depression Our lives avoided tragedy Simply by going on and on, Without end and with little apparent meaning. Oh, there were storms and small catastrophes. Simply by going on and on We managed. No need for the heroic. Oh, there were storms and small catastrophes. I don’t remember all the particulars. We managed. No need for […]...
35. Snail Poem Make my grave shape of heart so like a flower be free aired & handsome felt, Grave root pillow, tung up from grave & wigle at blown up clowd. Ear turnes close to underlayer of green felt moss & sound of rain dribble thru this layer down to the roots that will tickle my ear. […]...
36. Detroit Grease Shop Poem Four bright steel crosses, Universal joints, plucked Out of the burlap sack “the heart of the drive train,” The book says. Stars On Lemon’s wooden palm, Stars that must be capped, Rolled, and anointed, That have their orders And their commands as he Has his. Under the blue Hesitant light another day At Automotive In […]...
37. The Journey One day you finally knew What you had to do, and began, Though the voices around you Kept shouting Their bad advice— Though the whole house Began to tremble And you felt the old tug At your ankles. “Mend my life!” Each voice cried. But you didn’t stop. You knew what you had to do, […]...
38. Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine To exalt, enthrone, establish and defend, To welcome home mankind’s mysterious friend Wine, true begetter of all arts that be; Wine, privilege of the completely free; Wine the recorder; wine the sagely strong; Wine, bright avenger of sly-dealing wrong, Awake, Ausonian Muse, and sing the vineyard song! Sing how the Charioteer from Asia came, And […]...
39. Journey Of The Magi ‘A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter.’ And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory, Lying down in the melting snow. There were times we regretted The summer palaces on slopes, […]...
40. On A Journey Don’t be downcast, soon the night will come, When we can see the cool moon laughing in secret Over the faint countryside, And we rest, hand in hand. Don’t be downcast, the time will soon come When we can have rest. Our small crosses will stand On the bright edge of the road together, And […]...