Genius

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1. The Genius Of The Crowd there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average Human being to supply any given army on any given day And the best at murder are those who preach against it And the best at hate are those who preach love And the best at war finally are those who preach peace Those who […]...
2. I Met A Genius I met a genius on the train Today About 6 years old, He sat beside me And as the train Ran down along the coast We came to the ocean And then he looked at me And said, It’s not pretty. It was the first time I’d Realized That....
3. A Canvas For A Crust Aye, Montecelli, that’s the name. You may have heard of him perhaps. Yet though he never savoured fame, Of those impressionistic chaps, Monet and Manet and Renoir He was the avatar. He festered in a Marseilles slum, A starving genius, god-inspired. You’d take him for a lousy bum, Tho’ poetry of paint he lyred, In […]...
4. To The Genius Of Africa O thou who from the mountain’s height Roll’st down thy clouds with all their weight Of waters to old Niles majestic tide; Or o’er the dark sepulchral plain Recallest thy Palmyra’s ancient pride, Amid whose desolated domes Secure the savage chacal roams, Where from the fragments of the hallow’d fane The Arabs rear their miserable […]...
5. Sitting by a Bush in Broad Sunlight When I spread out my hand here today, I catch no more than a ray To feel of between thumb and fingers; No lasting effect of it lingers. There was one time and only the one When dust really took in the sun; And from that one intake of fire All creatures still warmly suspire. […]...
6. TO THE GENIUS OF HIS HOUSE Command the roof, great Genius, and from thence Into this house pour down thy influence, That through each room a golden pipe may run Of living water by thy benizon; Fulfil the larders, and with strength’ning bread Be ever-more these bins replenished. Next, like a bishop consecrate my ground, That lucky fairies here may dance […]...
7. The Republican Genius of Europe Emporers and kings! in vain you strive Your torments to conceal The age is come that shakes your thrones, Tramples in dust despotic crowns, And bids the sceptre fail. In western worlds the flame began: From thence to France it flew Through Europe, now, it takes its way, Beams an insufferable day, And lays all […]...
8. Apollonius Of Tyana In Rhodes Apollonius was talking about Proper education and conduct with a young Man who was building a luxurious House in Rhodes. “As for me” said the Tyanian At last, “when I enter a temple However small it may be, I very much prefer To see a statue of ivory and gold Than a clay and vulgar […]...
9. To do a magnanimous thing To do a magnanimous thing And take oneself by surprise If oneself is not in the habit of him Is precisely the finest of Joys Not to do a magnanimous thing Notwithstanding it never be known Notwithstanding it cost us existence once Is Rapture herself spurn...
10. Genius A hundred generations have gone into its making, With all their love and tenderness, with all their dreams and tears; Their vanished joy and pleasure, their pain and their heart-breaking, Have colored this rare blossom of the long-unfruitful years. Their victory and their laughter for this have strong men given, For this have sweet, dead […]...
11. Genius “Do I believe,” sayest thou, “what the masters of wisdom would teach me, And what their followers’ band boldly and readily swear? Cannot I ever attain to true peace, excepting through knowledge, Or is the system upheld only by fortune and law? Must I distrust the gently-warning impulse, the precept That thou, Nature, thyself hast […]...
12. Immortality In Sleeping Beauty’s castle The clock strikes one hundred years And the girl in the tower returns to the world. So do the servants in the kitchen, Who don’t even rub their eyes. The cook’s right hand, lifted An exact century ago, Completes its downward arc To the kitchen boy’s left ear; The boy’s tensed […]...
13. Dedication You whom I could not save Listen to me. Try to understand this simple speech as I would be ashamed of another. I swear, there is in me no wizardry of words. I speak to you with silence like a cloud or a tree. What strengthened me, for you was lethal. You mixed up farewell […]...
14. Robert Burns Immortal Robert Burns of Ayr, There’s but few poets can with you compare; Some of your poems and songs are very fine: To “Mary in Heaven” is most sublime; And then again in your “Cottar’s Saturday Night,” Your genius there does shine most bright, As pure as the dewdrops of the night. Your “Tam O’Shanter” […]...
15. Song of Myself I was a Poet! But I did not know it, Neither did my Mother, Nor my Sister nor my Brother. The Rich were not aware of it; The Poor took no care of it. The Reverend Mr. Drewitt Never knew it. The High did not suspect it; The Low could not detect it. Aunt Sue […]...
16. A HOPE FOR POETRY: REMEMBERING THE SIXTIES There was a hope for poetry in the sixties And for education and society, teachers free To do as they wanted: I could and did teach Poetry and art all day and little else – That was my way. I threw rainbows against the classroom walls, Gold and silver dragons in the corridors and Halls; […]...
17. My Cross I wrote a poem to the moon But no one noticed it; Although I hoped that late or soon Someone would praise a bit Its purity and grace forlone, Its beauty tulip-cool… But as my poem died still-born, I felt a fool. I wrote a verse of vulgar trend Spiced with an oath or two; […]...
18. The Vulgar Little Lady “But, mamma, now, ” said Charlotte, “pray, don’t you believe That I’m better than Jenny, my nurse? Only see my red shoes, and the lace on my sleeve; Her clothes are a thousand times worse. “I ride in my coach, and have nothing to do, And the country folks stare at me so; And nobody […]...
19. Ars Poetica? I have always aspired to a more spacious form That would be free from the claims of poetry or prose And would let us understand each other without exposing The author or reader to sublime agonies. In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent: A thing is brought forth which we didn’t know […]...
20. Poetry And Religion Religions are poems. They concert Our daylight and dreaming mind, our Emotions, instinct, breath and native gesture Into the only whole thinking: poetry. Nothing’s said till it’s dreamed out in words And nothing’s true that figures in words only. A poem, compared with an arrayed religion, May be like a soldier’s one short marriage night […]...
21. On The Meeting Of García Lorca And Hart Crane Brooklyn, 1929. Of course Crane’s Been drinking and has no idea who This curious Andalusian is, unable Even to speak the language of poetry. The young man who brought them Together knows both Spanish and English, But he has a headache from jumping Back and forth from one language To another. For a moment’s relief […]...
22. 365. Lines on Fergusson, the Poet ILL-FATED genius! Heaven-taught Fergusson! What heart that feels and will not yield a tear, To think Life’s sun did set e’er well begun To shed its influence on thy bright career. O why should truest Worth and Genius pine Beneath the iron grasp of Want and Woe, While titled knaves and idiot-Greatness shine In all […]...
23. Dream On Some people go their whole lives Without ever writing a single poem. Extraordinary people who don’t hesitate To cut somebody’s heart or skull open. They go to baseball games with the greatest of ease. And play a few rounds of golf as if it were nothing. These same people stroll into a church As if […]...
24. WYTHER PARK SCHOOL LEEDS FIVE I stood there in front of forty-five faces The first day of term, not especially fancying “Exercises in Mechanical Arithmetic” and so instead I read a poem from Kirkup in Japan, about Nijinsky, Hand-written on a fan of rice-paper. Thirty years later, taking a Sri Lankan girl In search of her first job around London […]...
25. The Blunder is in estimate The Blunder is in estimate. Eternity is there We say, as of a Station Meanwhile he is so near He joins me in my Ramble Divides abode with me No Friend have I that so persists As this Eternity....
26. Thoreau's Flute We sighing said, “Our Pan is dead; His pipe hangs mute beside the river Around it wistful sunbeams quiver, But Music’s airy voice is fled. Spring mourns as for untimely frost; The bluebird chants a requiem; The willow-blossom waits for him; The Genius of the wood is lost.” Then from the flute, untouched by hands, […]...
27. Not any more to be lacked Not any more to be lacked Not any more to be known Denizen of Significance For a span so worn Even Nature herself Has forgot it is there Sedulous of her Multitudes Notwithstanding Despair Of the Ones that pursued it Suing it not to go Some have solaced the longing To accompany Some rescinded the […]...
28. At a Poetry Party I Am Given the Rhyme Chih Although I’ve studied poetry for thirty years I try to keep my mouth shut and avoid reputation. Now who is this nosy gentleman talking about my poetry Like Yang Ching-chih Who spoke of Hsiang Ssu everywhere he went....
29. The Harvest Moon The flame-red moon, the harvest moon, Rolls along the hills, gently bouncing, A vast balloon, Till it takes off, and sinks upward To lie on the bottom of the sky, like a gold doubloon. The harvest moon has come, Booming softly through heaven, like a bassoon. And the earth replies all night, like a deep […]...
30. Our Eyes Our eyes are limpid drops of water. In each drop exists a tiny sign of our genius Which has given life to cold iron. Our eyes are limpid drops of water Merged absolutely in the Ocean That you could hardly recognize the drop in a block of ice in a boiling pan. The masterpiece of […]...
31. Prelude I have eaten your bread and salt. I have drunk your water and wine. In deaths ye died I have watched beside, And the lives ye led were mine. Was there aught that I did not share In vigil or toil or ease, One joy or woe that I did not know, Dear hearts across […]...
32. On The Borders We’re driving across tableland Somewhere in the world; It is almost bare of trees. Upland near void of features Always moves me, but not to thought; It lets me rest from thinking. I feel no need to interpret it As if it were art. Too much Of poetry is criticism now. That hawk, clinging to […]...
33. Vacant Lot With Pokeweed Tufts, follicles, grubstake Biennial rosettes, a low- Life beach-blond scruff of Couch grass: notwithstanding The interglinting dregs Of wholesale upheaval and Dismemberment, weeds do not Hesitate, the wheeling Rise of the ailanthus halts At nothing-and look! here’s A pokeweed, sprung up from seed Dropped by some vagrant, that’s Seized a foothold: a magenta- Girdered bower, […]...
34. The Bards Of Olden Time Say, where is now that glorious race, where now are the singers Who, with the accents of life, listening nations enthralled, Sung down from heaven the gods, and sung mankind up to heaven, And who the spirit bore up high on the pinions of song? Ah! the singers still live; the actions only are wanting, […]...
35. Floss won't save you from an Abyss Floss won’t save you from an Abyss But a Rope will Notwithstanding a Rope for a Souvenir Is not beautiful But I tell you every step is a Trough And every stop a Well Now will you have the Rope or the Floss? Prices reasonable...
36. The Poet The riches of the poet are equal to his poetry His power is his left hand It is idle weak and precious His poverty is his wealth, a wealth which may destroy him like Midas Because it is that laziness which is a form of impatience And this he may be destroyed by the gold […]...
37. 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 […]...
38. April 19 We have too much exhibitionism And not enough voyeurism In poetry we have plenty of bass And not enough treble, more amber Beer than the frat boys can drink but Less red wine than meets the lip In this beaker of the best Bordeaux, Too much thesis, too little antithesis And way too much New […]...
39. Preface This book is not about heroes. English Poetry is not yet fit to speak of them. Nor is it about deeds or lands, nor anything about glory, honour, dominion or power, except War. Above all, this book is not concerned with Poetry. The subject of it is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry […]...
40. Agoraphobia My whole world is all you refuse: A black light, angelic and cold On the path to the orchard, Fox-runs and clouded lanes and the glitter of webbing, Little owls snagged in the fruit nets Out by the wire And the sense of another life, that persists When I go out into the yard And […]...