English poetry

Poems in English

Dream Song 83: Op. posth. no. 6

I recall a boil, whereupon as I had to sit,
Just where, and when I had to, for deadlines.
O I could learn to type standing,
But isn’t it slim to be slumped off from that,
Problems undignified, fiery dig salt mines? —
Content on one’s black flat:

Soming no deadline—is all ancient nonsense—
No typewriters—ha! ha! —no typewriters—
For I have much to open, I know immense
Troubles & wonders to their secret curse.
Yet when erect on my ass,

Pissed off, I sat two-square, I kept shut my mouth
And stilled my nimble fingers across keys.
That is I stood up.
Now since down I lay, void of love & ruth,
I’d howl my knowings, only there’s the earth
Overhead. Plop!

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Poem Dream Song 83: Op. posth. no. 6 - John Berryman