What Fields Are As Fragrant As Your Hands?

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1. If Hands Could Free You, Heart If hands could free you, heart, Where would you fly? Far, beyond every part Of earth this running sky Makes desolate? Would you cross City and hill and sea, If hands could set you free? I would not lift the latch; For I could run Through fields, pit-valleys, catch All beauty under the sun Still […]...
2. Green Fields By this part of the century few are left who believe in the animals for they are not there in the carved parts Of them served on plates and the pleas from the slatted trucks are sounds of shadows that possess no future There is still game for the pleasure of killing and there are […]...
3. Come up from the Fields, Father 1 COME up from the fields, father, here’s a letter from our Pete; And come to the front door, mother-here’s a letter from thy dear son. 2 Lo, ’tis autumn; Lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder, Cool and sweeten Ohio’s villages, with leaves fluttering in the moderate wind; Where apples ripe in […]...
4. On Fields O'er Which the Reaper's Hand has Passed On fields o’er which the reaper’s hand has pass’d Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun, My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind And of such fineness as October airs, There after harvest could I glean my life A richer harvest reaping without toil, And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will In subtler […]...
5. I Dreamed I Moved Among The Elysian Fields I dreamed I moved among the Elysian fields, In converse with sweet women long since dead; And out of blossoms which that meadow yields I wove a garland for your living head. Danai, that was the vessel for a day Of golden Jove, I saw, and at her side, Whom Jove the Bull desired and […]...
6. Fields of Soria Hills of silver plate, Grey heights, dark red rocks Through which the Duero bends Its crossbow arc Round Soria, shadowed oaks, Stone dry-lands, naked mountains, White roads and river poplars, Twilights of Soria, warlike and mystical, Today I feel, for you, In my hearts depths, sadness, Sadness of love! Fields of Soria, Where it seems […]...
7. The Licorice Fields at Pontefract In the licorice fields at Pontefract My love and I did meet And many a burdened licorice bush Was blooming round our feet; Red hair she had and golden skin, Her sulky lips were shaped for sin, Her sturdy legs were flannel-slack’d The strongest legs in Pontefract. The light and dangling licorice flowers Gave off […]...
8. Tattoo The light is like a spider. It crawls over the water. It crawls over the edges of the snow. It crawls under your eyelids And spreads its webs there Its two webs. The webs of your eyes Are fastened To the flesh and bones of you As to rafters or grass. There are filaments of […]...
9. The Hangman's Great Hands And all that is this day. . . The boy with cap slung over what had been a face. .. Somehow the cop will sleep tonight, will make love to his Wife… Anger won’t help. I was born angry. Angry that my father was Being burnt alive in the mills; Angry that none of us […]...
10. Our Hands Have Met Our hands have met, our lips have met Our souls – who knows when the wind blows How light souls drift mid longings set, If thou forget’st, can I forget The time that was not long ago? Thou wert not silent then, but told Sweet secrets dear – I drew so near Thy shamefaced cheeks […]...
11. The Hands of the Betrothed Her tawny eyes are onyx of thoughtlessness, Hardened they are like gems in ancient modesty; Yea, and her mouth’s prudent and crude caress Means even less than her many words to me. Though her kiss betrays me also this, this only Consolation, that in her lips her blood at climax clips Two wild, dumb paws […]...
12. In the Smoking Car The eyelids meet. He’ll catch a little nap. The grizzled, crew-cut head drops to his chest. It shakes above the briefcase on his lap. Close voices breathe, “Poor sweet, he did his best.” “Poor sweet, poor sweet,” the bird-hushed glades repeat, Through which in quiet pomp his litter goes, Carried by native girls with naked […]...
13. Unlyric Love Song It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first: To offer you now at last my least and my worst: Minor, absurd preserves, The shell’s end-curves, A document kept at the back of a drawer, A tin hidden under the floor, Recalcitrant prides and hesitations: To pile them carefully in a desparate […]...
14. To the Tune of The fragrance of the pink lotus Fails, the jade mat hints of autumn. Softly I unfasten my silk cloak, Who is sending a letter from Among the clouds? When the swan message returns, The balcony is flooded with moonlight. The blossoms drift on, the water flows. There is the same yearning of the heart, But […]...
15. Looking Across The Fields And Watching The Birds Fly Among the more irritating minor ideas Of Mr. Homburg during his visits home To Concord, at the edge of things, was this: To think away the grass, the trees, the clouds, Not to transform them into other things, Is only what the sun does every day, Until we say to ourselves that there may be […]...
16. Fields and Gardens by the River Qi I dwell apart by the River Qi, Where the Eastern wilds stretch far without hills. The sun darkens beyond the mulberry trees; The river glistens through the villages. Shepherd boys depart, gazing back to their hamlets; Hunting dogs return following their men. When a man’s at peace, what business does he have? I shut fast […]...
17. PUBLISHERS And then they pretend like owls With marble eyes and wizened stupidity I do not know why they cannot perceive True art But I will write Until sand evaporates And the moon consumes the sun I will write Even for the sake of art For myself and for those who feel Reading could lift them […]...
18. Who Goes With Fergus? Who will go drive with Fergus now, And pierce the deep wood’s woven shade, And dance upon the level shore? Young man, lift up your russet brow, And lift your tender eyelids, maid, And brood on hopes and fear no more. And no more turn aside and brood Upon love’s bitter mystery; For Fergus rules […]...
19. 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. […]...
20. Hands There was a road that leads him to go to find A certain time where he sits. Smokes quietly in the evening by the four legged Table wagging its (well why not) tail, friendly Chap. Hears footsteps, looks to find his own feet gone. The road absorbs everything with rumors of sleep. And then he […]...
21. A Valentine For Hands names, silence-quietest minutes (building like rain or returning like seas) Since they have touched me, your warm hands have sown Gentlest sounds, touches and hours (or, building like rain, turning, like seas) (building like rain, or returning like seas) Ripples and springs-the shiniest rivers- Since they have known me your warm hands have gathered Smallest, […]...
22. Sorrow of Departure Red lotus incense fades on The jeweled curtain. Autumn Comes again. Gently I open My silk dress and float alone On the orchid boat. Who can Take a letter beyond the clouds? Only the wild geese come back And write their ideograms On the sky under the full Moon that floods the West Chamber. Flowers, […]...
23. Hold your mad hands Hold your mad hands! for ever on your plain Must the gorged vulture clog his beak with blood? For ever must your Niger’s tainted flood, Roll to the ravenous shark his banquet slain? Hold your mad hands! and learn at length to know, And turn your vengeance on the common foe, Yon treacherous vessel and […]...
24. I Wrung My Hands I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . . “Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?” Because I have made my loved one drunk With an astringent sadness. I’ll never forget. He went out, reeling; His mouth was twisted, desolate. . . I ran downstairs, not touching the banisters, And followed him as […]...
25. For The One Who Would Take Man's Life In His Hands Tiger Christ unsheathed his sword, Threw it down, became a lamb. Swift spat upon the species, but Took two women to his heart. Samson who was strong as death Paid his strength to kiss a slut. Othello that stiff warrior Was broken by a woman’s heart. Troy burned for a sea-tax, also for Possession of […]...
26. Just as He spoke it from his Hands Just as He spoke it from his Hands This Edifice remain A Turret more, a Turret less Dishonor his Design According as his skill prefer It perish, or endure Content, soe’er, it ornament His absent character....
27. Morning Poem #43 I close my eyes And there it is A concrete walkway Leading out of a Small village Hugging the sides Of a green green Tree filled mountainside And to the right A pipe railing Paited the color Of oxidized metaland even firther To my right A small beach Costline-an ocean All under a pale blue […]...
28. A Clasp Of Hands SOFT, small, and sweet as sunniest flowers That bask in heavenly heat When bud by bud breaks, breathes, and cowers, Soft, small, and sweet. A babe’s hands open as to greet The tender touch of ours And mock with motion faint and fleet The minutes of the new strange hours That earth, not heaven, must […]...
29. For The One Who Would Not Take His Life In His Hands Athlete, virtuoso, Training for happiness, Bend arm and knee, and seek The body’s sharp distress, For pain is pleasure’s cost, Denial is route To speech before the millions Or personal with the flute. The ape and great Achilles, Heavy with their fate, Batter doors down, strike Small children at the gate, Driven by love to […]...
30. Her gentle hands She came at night, her gentle hands Defused the ticking bomb that was his brain, She soothed the pain and drew his livid Length inside, she sat astride to weld His broken head with anxious gaze And clever hands, gave praise, Encouraged him to try and see, To open up his eyes. He cried. She […]...
31. 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 […]...
32. Clean Hands IT is something to face the sun and know you are free. To hold your head in the shafts of daylight slanting the earth And know your heart has kept a promise and the blood runs clean: It is something. To go one day of your life among all men with clean hands, Clean for […]...
33. Clasping of Hands LORD, Thou art mine, and I am Thine, If mine I am; and Thine much more Then I or ought or can be mine. Yet to be Thine doth me restore, So that again I now am mine, And with advantage mine the more, Since this being mine brings with it Thine, And Thou with […]...
34. I felt my life with both my hands I felt my life with both my hands To see if it was there I held my spirit to the Glass, To prove it possibler I turned my Being round and round And paused at every pound To ask the Owner’s name For doubt, that I should know the Sound I judged my features jarred […]...
35. Nature that Washed Her Hands in Milk Nature, that washed her hands in milk, And had forgot to dry them, Instead of earth took snow and silk, At love’s request to try them, If she a mistress could compose To please love’s fancy out of those. Her eyes he would should be of light, A violet breath, and lips of jelly; Her […]...
36. The Gardener XVI: Hands Cling to Eyes Hands cling to hands and eyes linger On eyes: thus begins the record of our Hearts. It is the moonlit night of March; The sweet smell of henna is in the air; My flute lies on the earth neglected And your garland of flowers is Unfinished. This love between you and me is Simple as […]...
37. The Gardener XXVI: What Comes From Your Willing Hands “What comes from your willing Hands I take. I beg for nothing More.” “Yes, yes, I know you, modest Mendicant, you ask for all that one Has.” “If there be a stray flower for me I will wear it in my heart.” “But if there be thorns?” “I will endure them.” “Yes, yes, I know […]...
38. Those fair fictitious People Those fair fictitious People The Women plucked away From our familiar Lifetime The Men of Ivory Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas Who stay upon the Wall In Everlasting Keepsake Can Anybody tell? We trust in places perfecter Inheriting Delight Beyond our faint Conjecture Our dizzy Estimate Remembering ourselves, we trust Yet Blesseder than We […]...
39. Dolor I have known the inexorable sadness of pencils, Neat in their boxes, dolor of pad and paper weight, All the misery of manilla folders and mucilage, Desolation in immaculate public places, Lonely reception room, lavatory, switchboard, The unalterable pathos of basin and pitcher, Ritual of multigraph, paper-clip, comma, Endless duplication of lives and objects. And […]...
40. Called Into Play Fall fell: so that’s it for the leaf poetry: Some flurries have whitened the edges of roads And lawns: time for that, the snow stuff: & Turkeys and old St. Nick: where am I going to Find something to write about I haven’t already Written away: I will have to stop short, look Down, look […]...