The world and ourselves pass away
We go on
. . . . .and enter the dance
What other chances are there
we could think of as
. . . . .already prepared?
20th Century American poetry
an old favorite of mine: Matchbook Poem by Paul Blackburn
BUT WHY do you go to the wall?
WHY does he go to the wall?
You go to the
wall because
that’s where the door is
maybe.
Speech by Robert Creeley
Simple things
one wants to say
like, what’s the day
like, out there–
who am I
and where.
The Surrogate by Paul Blackburn
She stole ma hat
. . .ma hat . was in the lounge with ma jacket
The jacket she dint take it, but
. . . . . . . ma hat, she tukkit, clean
. . . . . . . outa the place . she liked
ma hat . & went with it to the room & danced
. . .. .DANCED with it, wearing the hat she
. . . . . . . . . . . . DANCED!
Wearin the hat, she
danced, and dint expect I’d cum back ferit . ah did.
. . . . .Pretended I hadn’t figured it out
. . . . .talkin with her friend . I’d figured
. . . . . . . .she laiked ma hat.
The next mornin, nobuddy up, both of em sleepin late.
. . . . . . . . .”Come in”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . /
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .I did, & there it wass,
my hat
on the bed, she’d bigod
. . . . . . . . . . . slept with me hat!
Go by Robert Creeley
Push that little
thing up and the
other right down.
It’ll work.
Insomnia by Elizabeth Bishop
The moon in the bureau mirror
looks out a million miles
(and perhaps with pride, at herself,
but she never, never smiles)
far and away beyond sleep, or
perhaps she’s a daytime sleeper.
By the Universe deserted,
she’d tell it to go to hell,
and she’d find a body of water,
or a mirror, on which to dwell.
So wrap up care in a cobweb
and drop it down the well
into that world inverted
where left is always right,
where the shadows are really the body,
where we stay awake all night,
where the heavens are shallow as the sea
is now deep, and you love me.
Invitation Standing by Paul Blackburn
BRING a leaf to me
just a leaf just a
spring leaf, an
april leaf
just
come
Blue sky
never mind
Spring rain
never mind
Reach up and
take a leaf and
come
just come
Hymnus Ad Patrem Sinensis by Philip Whalen
I praise those ancient Chinamen
Who left me a few words,
Usually a pointless joke or a silly question
A line of poetry drunkenly scrawled on the margin
of a quick splashed picture–bug, leaf,
cariacature of Teacher–
on paper held together now by little more than ink
& their own strength brushed momentarily over it.
Their world and several others since
Gone to hell in a handbasket, they knew it–
Cheered as it whizzed by–
& conked out among the busted spring rain cherryblossom winejars
Happy to have saved us all.
Note: spelling is Whalen’s own
from T.S. Eliot
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
First Fig by Edna St. Vincent Millay
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends–
It gives a lovely light!
Leonard Durso 