Old Poets

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1. The Logical Vegetarian “Why shouldn’t I have a purely vegetarian drink? Why shouldn’t I take vegetables in their highest form, so to speak? The modest vegetarians ought to stick to wine or beer, plain vegetable drinks, instead of filling their goblets with the blood of bulls and elephants, as all conventional meat-eaters do, I suppose” Dalroy. You will […]...
2. To Certain Poets Now is the rhymer’s honest trade A thing for scornful laughter made. The merchant’s sneer, the clerk’s disdain, These are the burden of our pain. Because of you did this befall, You brought this shame upon us all. You little poets mincing there With women’s hearts and women’s hair! How sick Dan Chaucer’s ghost must […]...
3. The Poets O ye dead Poets, who are living still Immortal in your verse, though life be fled, And ye, O living Poets, who are dead Though ye are living, if neglect can kill, Tell me if in the darkest hours of ill, With drops of anguish falling fast and red From the sharp crown of thorns […]...
4. Besides the Autumn poets sing Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze A few incisive Mornings A few Ascetic Eves Gone Mr. Bryant’s “Golden Rod” And Mr. Thomson’s “sheaves.” Still, is the bustle in the Brook Sealed are the spicy valves Mesmeric fingers softly touch […]...
5. Chiang Chin Chiu See the waters of the Yellow River leap down from Heaven, Roll away to the deep sea and never turn again! See at the mirror In the High Hall Aged men bewailing white locks – In the morning, threads of silk, In the evening flakes of snow. Snatch the joys Of life as they come […]...
6. The Poets Of The Tomb The world has had enough of bards who wish that they were dead, ‘Tis time the people passed a law to knock ’em on the head, For ‘twould be lovely if their friends could grant the rest they crave Those bards of ‘tears’ and ‘vanished hopes’, those poets of the grave. They say that life’s […]...
7. The Poets light but Lamps The Poets light but Lamps Themselves go out The Wicks they stimulate If vital Light Inhere as do the Suns Each Age a Lens Disseminating their Circumference...
8. Poets Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells That the wind sways above a ruined shrine. Vainer his voice in whom no longer dwells Hunger that craves immortal Bread and Wine. Light songs we breathe that perish with our breath Out of our lips that have not kissed the rod. They shall not live who have […]...
9. The Martyr Poets did not tell The Martyr Poets did not tell But wrought their Pang in syllable That when their mortal name be numb Their mortal fate encourage Some The Martyr Painters never spoke Bequeathing rather to their Work That when their conscious fingers cease Some seek in Art the Art of Peace...
10. When the new year when the new year Came out of nowhere And peeped into rooms It was so flattered to find All the tv’s drinking its health Praising its innocent appearance It responded with its warm Dark smile and went round Filling people’s dry hearts With joy Over the coming weeks though Those same tv’s attacked it Criticising […]...
11. Lately our poets Lately our poets loiter’d in green lanes, Content to catch the ballads of the plains; I fancied I had strength enough to climb A loftier station at no distant time, And might securely from intrusion doze Upon the flowers thro’ which Ilissus flows. In those pale olive grounds all voices cease, And from afar dust […]...
12. Ai There is a chimp named Ai who can count to five. There’s a poet named Ai whose selected poems Vice Just won the National Book Award. The name “Ai” is pronounced “I” So that whenever I talk about the poet Ai Such as I’m teaching Ai’s poems again this semester It sounds like I’m teaching […]...
13. A Satisfactory Reform A merry burgomaster In a burgh upon the Rhine Said, “Our burghers all are Far too fond of drinking wine.” So the merry burgomaster, When the burgomasters met, Bade them look into the matter Ere the thing went farther yet. And the merry burgomasters Did decide the only way To alleviate the evil Without worry […]...
14. Poets to Come POETS to come! orators, singers, musicians to come! Not to-day is to justify me, and answer what I am for; But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known, Arouse! Arouse-for you must justify me-you must answer. I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future, I but advance […]...
15. Strong Beer “What do you think The bravest drink Under the sky?” “Strong beer,” said I. “There’s a place for everything, Everything, anything, There’s a place for everything Where it ought to be: For a chicken, the hen’s wing; For poison, the bee’s sting; For almond-blossom, Spring; A beerhouse for me.” “There’s a prize for every one […]...
16. Der mann im keller How cool and fair this cellar where My throne a dusky cask is; To do no thing but just to sing And drown the time my task is. The cooper he’s Resolved to please, And, answering to my winking, He fills me up Cup after cup For drinking, drinking, drinking. Begrudge me not This cosy […]...
17. Birthday (16th January 1949) I thank whatever gods may be For all the happiness that’s mine; That I am festive, fit and free To savour women, wit and wine; That I may game of golf enjoy, And have a formidable drive: In short, that I’m a gay old boy Though I be Seventy-and-five. My daughter thinks. […]...
18. Big Hair Ithaca, October 1993: Jorie went on a lingerie Tear, wanting to look like a moll In a Chandler novel. Dinner, consisting of three parts gin And one part lime juice cordial, was a prelude to her hair. There are, she said, poems that can be written Only when the poet is clad in black underwear. […]...
19. THE SINGING SCHOOL The Poetry School, The Poetry Book Society, The Poetry Business: So much poetry about you’d think I’d want to shout, “Hurray, hurray, Every day’s Poetry Day!” but I don’t and you don’t either- You know its flim-flam on the ether, grants for Jack-the-lads Of both sexes, poets who’ve never been seen in a little magazine […]...
20. Lines On Reading Too Many Poets Roses, rooted warm in earth, Bud in rhyme, another age; Lilies know a ghostly birth Strewn along a patterned page; Golden lad and chimbley sweep Die; and so their song shall keep. Wind that in Arcadia starts In and out a couplet plays; And the drums of bitter hearts Beat the measure of a phrase. […]...
21. To the Etruscan Poets Dream fluently, still brothers, who when young Took with your mother’s milk the mother tongue, In which pure matrix, joining world and mind, You strove to leave some line of verse behind Like still fresh tracks across a field of snow, Not reckoning that all could melt and go....
22. Drunken Memories Of Anne Sexton The first and last time I met My ex-lover Anne Sexton was at A protest poetry reading against Some anti-constitutional war in Asia When some academic son of a bitch, To test her reputation as a drunk, Gave her a beer glass full of wine After our reading. She drank It all down while staring […]...
23. Imitated From The Japanese A most astonishing thing Seventy years have I lived; (Hurrah for the flowers of Spring, For Spring is here again.) Seventy years have I lived No ragged beggar-man, Seventy years have I lived, Seventy years man and boy, And never have I danced for joy....
24. 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 […]...
25. 293. The Whistle: A Ballad I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North. Was brought to the court of our good Scottish King, And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. Old Loda, still rueing the arm of Fingal, The god of the bottle sends down from his […]...
26. Apology (For Eleanor Rogers Cox) For blows on the fort of evil That never shows a breach, For terrible life-long races To a goal no foot can reach, For reckless leaps into darkness With hands outstretched to a star, There is jubilation in Heaven Where the great dead poets are. There is joy over disappointment And […]...
27. THE DEATH OF ART “Reading well is one of the great pleasures that solitude can afford you.” -critic Harold Bloom, who first called slam poetry “the death of art.” I am not a poet. I want to be rich and buy things for my family. Besides, I am sort of popular and can honestly say I’ve had a great […]...
28. Going Up Yoyang Tower We climbed Yoyang Tower with All the scene around coming Into vision; looking up the Great River seeing boats turn And enter the Tungting Lake; geese Crying farewell to the river As they flew south; evening falling As if mountain tops upt up the moon With their lips; and we in the Yoyang Tower as […]...
29. Yesterday I’ve trod the links with many a man, And played him club for club; ‘Tis scarce a year since I began And I am still a dub. But this I’ve noticed as we strayed Along the bunkered way, No one with me has ever played As he did yesterday. It makes no difference what the […]...
30. Mystery Now I am all One bowl of kisses, Such as the tall Slim votaresses Of Egypt filled For a God’s excesses. I lift to you My bowl of kisses, And through the temple’s Blue recesses Cry out to you In wild caresses. And to my lips’ Bright crimson rim The passion slips, And down my […]...
31. In Memoriam: Four Poets 1 Searock his tower above the sea, Searock he built, not ivory. Searock as well his haunted art Who gave to plunging hawks his hearts. 2 He loved to stand upon his head To demonstrate he was not dead. Ah, if his poems misbehave ‘Tis only to defy the grave. 3 This exquisite patrician bird […]...
32. 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 out with a Laxative. get your name in LIGHTS, Get it up there in 8 1/2 x 11 mimeo. Keep it coming like a miracle. Ah christ, writers are the most sickening Of all […]...
33. Captain Stratton's Fancy OH some are fond of red wine, and some are fond of white, And some are all for dancing by the pale moonlight; But rum alone’s the tipple, and the heart’s delight Of the old bold mate of Henry Morgan. Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French, And some’ll […]...
34. Wreath the Bowl Wreath the bowl With flowers of soul, The brightest Wit can find us, We’ll take a flight Towards heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us. Should Love amid The wreaths be hid That Joy, the enchanter, brings us, No danger fear, While wine is near We’ll drown him if he stings us. Then, wreath […]...
35. Before The Cask of Wine The spring wind comes from the east and quickly passes, Leaving faint ripples in the wine of the golden bowl. The flowers fall, flake after flake, myriads together. You, pretty girl, wine-flushed, Your rosy face is rosier still. How long may the peach and plum trees flower By the green-painted house? The fleeting light deceives […]...
36. An Exhortation Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets’ food is love and fame: If in this wide world of care Poets could but find the same With as little toil as they, Would they ever change their hue As the light chameleons do, Suiting it to every ray Twenty times a day? Poets are on this […]...
37. Cows In Art Class good weather Is like Good women- It doesn’t always happen And when it does It doesn’t Always last. Man is More stable: If he’s bad There’s more chance He’ll stay that way, Or if he’s good He might hang On, But a woman Is changed By Children Age Diet Conversation Sex The moon The absence […]...
38. Modern Love XXXI: This Golden Head This golden head has wit in it. I live Again, and a far higher life, near her. Some women like a young philosopher; Perchance because he is diminutive. For woman’s manly god must not exceed Proportions of the natural nursing size. Great poets and great sages draw no prize With women: but the little lap-dog […]...
39. White Hands FOR the second time in a year this lady with the white hands is brought to the west room second floor of a famous sanatorium. Her husband is a cornice manufacturer in an Iowa town and the lady has often read papers on Victorian poets before the local literary club. Yesterday she washed her hands […]...
40. Nay, Tell Me Not, Dear Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns One charm of feeling, one fond regret; Believe me, a few of thy angry frowns Are all I’ve sunk in its bright wave yet. Ne’er hath a beam Been lost in the stream That ever was shed from thy form or soul; The spell of those […]...