D. H. Lawrence
2. Antimatter Russell Edson
3. Reply Letter Fred Chappell
4. Bloody Men Wendy Cope
5. Water is Taught by Thirst Emily Dickinson
6. I'm Happiest When Most Away Emily Brontë
7. A Time to Talk Robert Frost
8. To Percy Bysshe Shelley
9. Talking in Bed Philip Larkin
10. Winter Trees William Carlos Williams
11. People D. H. Lawrence
12. On a Night of Snow Elizabeth Coatsworth
13. Old Celery Mark Yakich
14. The Widow Julio Cortázar
15. Dark House Alfred, Lord Tennyson
16. Consolation William Butler Yeats
17. New Every Morning Susan Coolidge
18. Poem I James Joyce
19. To a Lady, Asking him how Long he would Love her
Sir George Etherege
Tell me a word
that you've often heard,
yet it makes you squint
if you see it in print!
that you've often seen,
yet if put in a book
it makes you turn green!
Tell me a thing
that you often do,
which described in a story
shocks you through and through!
Russell Edson American (1935- )
other side of a mirror
there's an inverse world,
where the in-sane go sane;
where bones climb out of the earth
and recede to the first slime of love.
And in the evening the sun is just rising.
Lovers cry because they
are a day younger,
and soon childhood robs them of their pleasure.
In such a world there
is much sadness
which, of course, is joy . . .
Fred Chappell American (1936- )
marked some passages so red
They must look as if they'd bled;
And when you see my savage scratches
Setting off your purple patches,
You'll think your book has had a fight
In a pool hall Saturday night.
But that's not true, for I've admired
The way you get my passions fired.
Please understand: I here present
The sincerest form of compliment.
men are like bloody buses
You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches your stop
Two or three others appear.
You look at them flashing their indicators,
Offering you a ride.
You're trying to read the destinations,
You haven't much time to decide.
If you make a mistake, there is no turning back.
Jump off, and you'll stand there and gaze
While the cars and the taxis and lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours, the days.
5. Water is Taught by Thirst
Emily Dickinson American (1830-1886)
Water is taught by thirst;
Land, by the oceans passed;
Transport, by throe;
Peace, by its battle told;
Love, by memorial mould;
Birds, by the snow.
when most away
I can bear soul from its home of clay
On a windy night when the moon is bright
And the eye can wander through worlds of light
When I am not and none
Nor earth nor sea nor cloudless sky
But only spirit wandering wide
Through infinite immensity
7. A Time to Talk WA reading WA text 1/18/04
Robert Frost American (1874-1963)
friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don't stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven't hoed,
And shout from where I am, "What is it?"
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.
top home8. To
is too often profaned
For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it;
One hope is too like despair
For prudence to smother,
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.
|| I can
give not what men call love,
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the Heavens reject not,
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?
9. Talking in Bed
Philip Larkin English (1922- 1985)
Talking in bed ought to
Lying together there goes back so far,
An emblem of two people being honest.
Yet more and more time
Outside the wind's incomplete unrest
Builds and disperses clouds about the sky.
And dark towns heap up
on the horizon.
None of this cares for us. Nothing shows why
At this unique distance from isolation
It becomes still more difficult
Words at once true and kind,
Or not untrue and not unkind.
William Carlos Williams American (1883-1963)
All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among
the long branches.
Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.
D. H. Lawrence English (1885-1930)
gold apples of light
Hang from the street's long bough
Dripping their light
On the faces that drift below,
The ripeness of these apples
Distilling over me
Makes sickening the white
Ghost-flux of faces that hie
Them endlessly, endlessly by
Without meaning or reason why
They ever should be.
top home12. On a Night of Snow WA reading WA text 1/9/04
the fire, my Cat. Lie still, do not go.
See how the flames are leaping and hissing low,
I will bring you a saucer of milk like a marguerite,
so white and so smooth, so spherical and so sweet
stay with me, Cat. Outdoors the wild winds blow.
13. Old Celery WA text WA reading 12/12/03
Mark Yakich American
At the corner greengrocer
I'd passed you many times before,
always under the bright lights,
water beading up on your tough skin.
|As I counted
a penny dropped down under your stand.
On the way up, you,
old celery, caught my eye.
I picked up a tomato,
a pair of kohlrabi,
a handful of coriander;
I had money this time.
You'd been moved to a darker
of the produce. I now felt
guilt; I had missed
you in your prime.
I set down the other vegetables,
took you, limp and barely
green, and left a hollow yellow
in the bed of shaved ice.
When I held you up
to get a fair look, there was
not a silence in the world
like the silence between us.
Like so many things I've
to see until they persisted
in seeing me, I took you
as if now I had a choice.
14. The Widow
Julio Cortázar Argentinian (1914-1984)
Translated by Paul Blackburn American (1926-1971)
him with delicate movements, I
draw him near my resentful solitude, seeking
in him the fiery answer,
the marital conjugation.
I try not to shock his virgin hardiness,
I fondle his neck, I prepare him
for the consummate ritual which will reconcile us.
widowhood, like a cutting edge
severed him from me.
Dark house, by which once
more I stand
Here in the long unlovely street,
Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand,
that can be clasp'd no more íV
Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
And like a guilty thing I creep
At earliest morning to the door.
He is not here; but far
The noise of life begins again,
And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain
On the bald street breaks the blank day.
top home16. Consolation
down that head
Till I have told the sages
Where man is comforted.
How could passion run so deep
morning is a fresh beginning,
Listen my soul to the glad refrain.
And, spite of old sorrows
And older sinning,
And possible pain,
Take heart with the day and begin again.
reading WA text
James Joyce Irish (1882 - 1941)
in the earth and air
Make music sweet;
Strings by the river where
The willows meet.
There's music along the river
For Love wanders there,
Pale flowers on his mantle,
Dark leaves on his hair.
With head to the music bent,
And fingers straying
Upon an instrument.
19. To a Lady, Asking him how Long he would Love her
Sir George Etherege English (1636-1689)
It is not, Celia, in our
To say how long our love will last;
It may be we within this hour
May lose those joys we now do taste:
The blessed, that immortal be,
From change in love are only free.
since we mortal lovers are,
Ask not how long our love will last;
But while it does, let us take care
Each minute be with pleasure past.