Homage to Mistress Bradstreet and Other Poems

Homage to Mistress Bradstreet and Other Poems

John Berryman

Language: English

Pages: 43

ISBN: B003GLKW9E

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


This volume represents the first appearance in paperback of one of America's most outstanding poets, John Berryman.

It contains, besides the long title poem, Homage to Mistress Bradstreet, the major portion of Short Poems; a selection from The Dispossessed, which drew on two earlier collections; some poems from His Thought Made Pockets&The Plane Buckt; and one poem from Sonnets.

Simple's Uncle Sam

La copa dorada

Closing Time: The Sequel to Catch-22

The Cat Megapack: 25 Frisky Feline Tales, Old and New

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

then beyond my song: whirl & rejoice! The Enemies of the Angels I The Irish and the Italians own the place. Anyone owns it, if you like, who has A dollar minimum; but it is theirs by noise. Let them possess it until one o’clock, The balconies’ tiers, huddled tables, shroud- ed baleful music, and the widening crack Across the far wall watching a doomed crowd, The fat girl simpering carnations to the boys. This is a paradise the people seek, To hide, if they but knew, being awake,

Losses and crisis. This is where they come For love, for fun, to forget, dance, to conceal Their slow perplexity by the river. Who But pities the kissing couple? Who would feel Disdain, as she does, being put on show By whom she loves? And pity .. our images of home. The arrival of the angels is delayed An even minute, and I am afraid We clapped because they fail to, not because They come. Their wings are sorry. The platform A little shudders as they back and frisk, We’d maul the

show. Man is entirely alone may be. I am a man of griefs & fits trying to be my friend. And the brown smock splits, down the pale flesh a gash broadens and Time holds up your heart against my eyes. 36 — Hard and divided heaven! creases me. Shame is failing. My breath is scented, and I throw hostile glances towards God. Crumpling plunge of a pestle, bray: sin cross & opposite, wherein I survive nightmares of Eden. Reaches foul & live he for me, this soul to crunch, a minute tangle of

the Park, The charming dangerous entrance to their need, Dozens, a hundred men have lain till morning And the preservative darkness waning, Waking to want, to the day before, desire For the ultimate good, Respect, to hunger waking; Like the statue ruined but without its eyes; Turned vaguely out at dawn for a new day. Fountains I hear behind me on the left, See green, see natural life springing in May To spend its summer sheltering our lovers, Those walks so shortly to be over. The

now the body of my fear, These animals are my distraction. Once Let me escape the smells and cages here, Once let me stand naked in the sun, All these performances will be forgotten. I shall concentrate in the sunlight there. Said the conservative Heart: Your animals Are occupation, food for you, your love And your immense responsibility; They are the travellers by which you live. (Without you they will pace and pine, or die.) — I reared them, tended them (I said) and still They

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