William Street

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1. December 30 At 1:30 in the morning a fart Smells like a marriage between An avocado and a fish head. I have to get out of bed To write this down without My glasses on....
2. A Door just opened on a street A Door just opened on a street I lost was passing by An instant’s Width of Warmth disclosed And Wealth and Company. The Door as instant shut And I I lost was passing by Lost doubly but by contrast most Informing misery...
3. The Summary History of Sir William Wallace Sir William Wallace of Ellerslie, I’m told he went to the High School in Dundee, For to learn to read and write, And after that he learned to fight, While at the High School in Dundee, The Provost’s son with him disagree, Because Wallace did wear a dirk, He despised him like an ignorant stirk, […]...
4. TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING The pages of thy book I read, And as I closed each one, My heart, responding, ever said, “Servant of God! well done!” Well done! Thy words are great and bold; At times they seem to me, Like Luther’s, in the days of old, Half-battles for the free. Go on, until this land revokes The […]...
5. On the Road Roar of the rushing train fearfully rocking, Impatient people jammed in line for food, The rasping noise of cars together knocking, And worried waiters, some in ugly mood, Crowding into the choking pantry hole To call out dishes for each angry glutton Exasperated grown beyond control, From waiting for his soup or fish or mutton. […]...
6. Something Has Fallen Something has fallen wordlessly And holds still on the black driveway. You find it, like a jewel, Among the empty bottles and cans Where the dogs toppled the garbage. You pick it up, not sure If it is stone or wood Or some new plastic made To replace them both. When you raise your sunglasses […]...
7. On Rabbi Kook's Street On Rabbi Kook’s Street I walk without this good man A streiml he wore for prayer A silk top hat he wore to govern, Fly in the wind of the dead Above me, float on the water Of my dreams. I come to the Street of Prophets there are none. And the Street of Ethiopians […]...
8. Ode For Mrs. William Settle In Lake Forest, a suburb of Chicago, A woman sits at her desk to write Me a letter. She holds a photograph Of me up to the light, one taken 17 years ago in a high school class In Providence. She sighs, and the sigh Smells of mouthwash and tobacco. If she were writing by […]...
9. Careers Father is quite the greatest poet That ever lived anywhere. You say you’re going to write great music – I chose that first: it’s unfair. Besides, now I can’t be the greatest painter and do Christ and angels, or lovely pears and apples and grapes on a green dish, or storms at sea, or anything […]...
10. A City Remembered Unlovely city, to which few tourists come With squinting cameras and alien hats; Left under a cloud by those who love the sun And can afford to marry – a cloud of bits Of soot more myriad than gnats, a cloud Of smoke and rain, an insubstantial threat Whose colour is the pigment of long […]...
11. The Long-Nosed Fair Once on a time I fair Dorinda kiss’d, Whose nose was too distinguish’d to be miss’d; My dear, says I, I fain would kiss you closer, But tho’ your lips say aye your nose says, no, Sir. The maid was equally to fun inclin’d, And plac’d her lovely lily-hand behind; Here, swain, she cry’d, may’st […]...
12. You Are Old, Father William “You are old, Father william,” the young man said, “And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head Do you think, at your age, it is right? “In my youth,” Father William replied to his son, “I feared it might injure the brain; But now that I’m perfectly sure […]...
13. Advice to the Grub Street Verse-writers Ye poets ragged and forlorn, Down from your garrets haste; Ye rhymers, dead as soon as born, Not yet consign’d to paste; I know a trick to make you thrive; O, ’tis a quaint device: Your still-born poems shall revive, And scorn to wrap up spice. Get all your verses printed fair, Then let them […]...
14. Devonshire Street W.1 The heavy mahogany door with its wrought-iron screen Shuts. And the sound is rich, sympathetic, discreet. The sun still shines on this eighteenth-century scene With Edwardian faience adornment Devonshire Street. No hope. And the X-ray photographs under his arm Confirm the message. His wife stands timidly by. The opposite brick-built house looks lofty and calm […]...
15. In the Street Where the needle-woman toils Through the night with hand and brain, Till the sickly daylight shudders like a spectre at the pain – Till her eyes seem to crawl, And her brain seems to creep – And her limbs are all a-tremble for the want of rest and sleep! It is there the fire-brand blazes […]...
16. Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face Be glad your nose is on your face, Not pasted on some other place, For if it were where it is not, You might dislike your nose a lot. Imagine if your precious nose Were sandwiched in between your toes, That clearly would not be a treat, For you’d be forced to smell your feet. […]...
17. A Wreath To The Fish Who is this fish, still wearing its wealth, Flat on my drainboard, dead asleep, Its suit of mail proof only against the stream? What is it to live in a stream, To dwell forever in a tunnel of cold, Never to leave your shining birthsuit, Never to spend your inheritance of thin coins? And who […]...
18. 45 Mercy Street In my dream, Drilling into the marrow Of my entire bone, My real dream, I’m walking up and down Beacon Hill Searching for a street sign Namely MERCY STREET. Not there. I try the Back Bay. Not there. Not there. And yet I know the number. 45 Mercy Street. I know the stained-glass window Of […]...
19. The Wizard in the Street [Concerning Edgar Allan Poe] Who now will praise the Wizard in the street With loyal songs, with humors grave and sweet – This Jingle-man, of strolling players born, Whom holy folk have hurried by in scorn, This threadbare jester, neither wise nor good, With melancholy bells upon his hood? The hurrying great ones scorn his […]...
20. My Nose Is Growing Old Yup. A long lazy September look In the mirror Say it’s true. I’m 31 And my nose is growing Old. It starts about 1/2 An inch Below the bridge And strolls geriatrically Down For another inch or so: Stopping. Fortunately, the rest Of the nose is comparatively Young. I wonder if girls Will want me […]...
21. 62. Epistle to William Simson I GAT your letter, winsome Willie; Wi’ gratefu’ heart I thank you brawlie; Tho’ I maun say’t, I wad be silly, And unco vain, Should I believe, my coaxin billie Your flatterin strain. But I’se believe ye kindly meant it: I sud be laith to think ye hinted Ironic satire, sidelins sklented On my poor […]...
22. Street Cries Oft seems the Time a market-town Where many merchant-spirits meet Who up and down and up and down Cry out along the street Their needs, as wares; one THUS, one SO: Till all the ways are full of sound: But still come rain, and sun, and snow, And still the world goes round. I. Remonstrance. […]...
23. Faces In The Street They lie, the men who tell us for reasons of their own That want is here a stranger, and that misery’s unknown; For where the nearest suburb and the city proper meet My window-sill is level with the faces in the street Drifting past, drifting past, To the beat of weary feet While I sorrow […]...
24. Meditation on the A30 A man on his own in a car Is revenging himself on his wife; He open the throttle and bubbles with dottle And puffs at his pitiful life She’s losing her looks very fast, She loses her temper all day; That lorry won’t let me get past, This Mini is blocking my way. “Why can’t […]...
25. The Pobble Who Has No Toes The Pobble who has no toes Had once as many as we; When they said “Some day you may lose them all;” He replied “Fish, fiddle-de-dee!” And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink Lavender water tinged with pink, For she said “The World in general knows There’s nothing so good for a Pobble’s toes!” The […]...
26. Lucindy Jane When I was young I was too proud To wheel my daughter in her pram. “It’s infra dig,” I said aloud, Bot now I’m old, behold I am Perambulating up and down Grand-daughter through the town. And when I come into the Square, Beside the fountain I will stop; And as to rest I linger […]...
27. Carbonara eyes Nicky said I couldn’t write, she’s got a charming Sense of social etiquette – given she’s a bitch (the canine sort, can’t spell for shit or even write A word) but then she has the most expressive eyes. So what she said was no surprise, she’d heard My lamentations, licked my hands, rested forepaws On […]...
28. To The Memory Of My Beloved, The Author, Mr William Shakespeare, And What He Hath Left Us To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; While I confess thy writings to be such As neither Man nor Muse can praise too much. ‘Tis true, and all men’s suffrage. But these ways Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; For silliest ignorance […]...
29. For the Union Dead “Relinquunt Omnia Servare Rem Publicam.” The old South Boston Aquarium stands In a Sahara of snow now. Its broken windows are boarded. The bronze weathervane cod has lost half its scales. The airy tanks are dry. Once my nose crawled like a snail on the glass; My hand tingled To burst the bubbles Drifting from […]...
30. Ballad Of The Despairing Husband My wife and I lived all alone, Contention was our only bone. I fought with her, she fought with me, And things went on right merrily. But now I live here by myself With hardly a damn thing on the shelf, And pass my days with little cheer Since I have parted from my dear. […]...
31. Chamfort THERE’S Chamfort. He’s a sample. Locked himself in his library with a gun, Shot off his nose and shot out his right eye. And this Chamfort knew how to write And thousands read his books on how to live, But he himself didn’t know How to die by force of his own hand see? They […]...
32. After the Earthquake After the first astounding rush, After the weeks at the lake, The crystal, the clouds, the water lapping the rocks, The snow breaking under our boots like skin, & the long mornings in bed. . . After the tangos in the kitchen, & our eyes fixed on each other at dinner, As if we would […]...
33. The Owl And The Pussy-Cat I The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea In a beautiful pea green boat, They took some honey, and plenty of money, Wrapped up in a five pound note. The Owl looked up to the stars above, And sang to a small guitar, ‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love, What a beautiful Pussy […]...
34. Meddlesome Matty One ugly trick has often spoil’d The sweetest and the best; Matilda, though a pleasant child, One ugly trick possess’d, Which, like a cloud before the skies, Hid all her better qualities. Sometimes she’d lift the tea-pot lid, To peep at what was in it, Or tilt the kettle, if you did But turn your […]...
35. A Good Boy I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day, I never said an ugly word, but smiled and stuck to play. And now at last the sun is going down behind the wood, And I am very happy, for I know that I’ve been good. My bed is waiting cool and fresh, with […]...
36. Annuitant Oh I am neither rich nor poor, No worker I dispoil; Yet I am glad to be secure From servitude and toil. For with my lifelong savings I Have bought annuity; And so unto the day I die I’ll have my toast and tea. When on the hob the kettle sings I’ll make an amber […]...
37. The Best Cigarette There are many that I miss Having sent my last one out a car window Sparking along the road one night, years ago. The heralded one, of course: After sex, the two glowing tips Now the lights of a single ship; At the end of a long dinner With more wine to come And a […]...
38. William Rufus The reign of King William the Second Were an uninteresting affair There’s only two things that’s remembered of him That’s his sudden death and his red hair. He got his red hair from his Mother, The crown that he wore were his Dad’s, And the arrow that came at the end of his reign Were […]...
39. To William Holden (July 15) We know who The guards are In those POW Movies with brutal But easy to Fool fat Germans Or sadistic Japanese Who never smiled They’re the grown-ups We’re the kids That’s the secret...
40. Street in Agrigentum There is still the wind that I remember Firing the manes of horses, racing, Slanting, across the plains, The wind that stains and scours the sandstone, And the heart of gloomy columns, telamons, Overthrown in the grass. Spirit of the ancients, grey With rancour, return on the wind, Breathe in that feather-light moss That covers […]...