Read Selected Poems by Alain Bosquet Samuel Beckett Lawrence Durrell Fowlie Wallace Online

Title : Selected Poems
Author :
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ISBN : 9780821401125
Format Type : Hardcover
Number of Pages : 189 Pages
Status : Available For Download
Last checked : 21 Minutes ago!

Selected Poems Reviews

  • Matthew
    2019-03-20 09:27

    In me, civil war.My orange tree my knees displease;my cascade rails against my bones;mine between my hear to chooseand a stabbed island stertorousin my valise, between my history booksand head crammed with throttled memories.Mucous membraned Word!Thing that wouldst be human!In me, civil war.*Fresh sighs for sale!Prime doubts a penny!Scowls going at a loss!When I'm sold out I'll gofar from me and these amongbe born again:a mango warm from the bough,a more than feline kiss,a few objects without name.Fresh hopes for sale!Prime sooth a penny!- Second Testament, pg. 3* * *the universe will roarI invent a prayerto beautify youthe universe will bellowI inventthe cathedralfor your hairaround a mammalian islandthe stricken universe will croakI invent a godso that after my suicideyou will lick his handssilence will cover the universemystical dragon-fly- After Me, pg. 15* * *- young feathers- be simple like your armpit- heavy column- be natural like the nape of your neck- words of the mad snake- be faithful to your skin to your lip- refusal of the fermenting blue- be the friend of your native speech- mosquito with the tiger's bite- be your eye be your blood- Be Your Blood, pg. 23* * *- heavy stork- your eye is a sacrilege- crawling moon- you pronounce me you spell me- diverted dawn- you live you empty out existence- leprosy or earthquake or imperious mimosa- a choiceimplies a funeral- A Choice Implies a Funeral, pg. 37* * *I will murder that memorywhich without mercy offers meyour form your sweat your legsout of which came filliesmore affectionate than the dawnall my skeletons have left meI am flesh in painwandering about in search of oblivionare we confusedlike tongue and palatein the same mouth?and my suicide is allowingyou to populate meand overpopulate meand expell me from myself- Overpopulated with You, pg. 43* * *I am a soiled towel(happy to be so unhappy)I am what you say I amwatch fur flag in a storm(indifferent even to indifference)I am snow that sleepssnow that kills(someone else for all the others)for having lost so much material I am(polished polished polished)- Parentheses, pg. 59* * *You dareidentifythe word "giraffe"and the animal that pitches in the bush like a boat.You murder with a word.You crucifywith a proverb.You want couch-grass.You will die tonight:vengeance of the unexpressed.- The Unexpressed, pg. 61* * *Down he kneels,But has he any knees?He experiences all timeLike a vein in a sick man's wrist.Grass would be a friendif he could only talk to it.Anyway, one word is enough he knowsFor the sky's shipwreck.He has peopled himself with flawed mirrors.- The Wasps Will Sting the Cathedrals, pg. 71* * *he'd love to have another body.Might the squirrels sauntering on the grassfear his lukewarm hands?Ill does he appraise the moss and the words upon him.Tautly, he strivesto live on his own surface.Sometimes he turns into a clock.- For Lack of a Soul, pg. 87* * *A book that cries,a tobacco spittle,a rabbit skin never in use:that's all he owns.He believes he is freeand bums between self and self.Down in his wind-pipe,he pitched many a lamp-post:he knows he has a right to lean.What if matter were his fall?- The Toad Would Gobble the Moon, pg. 91* * *He'd grant old leather is old leather;and the garden, a shock of hairover a cemetery.Like his skin, the hour is treacherous.He bewarns himself.In the midst of odds and ends:hangers, hammers,fans, tables, caps,he findsa scrap of existence.- Say He'd Treated Himself to Some Sincerity, pg. 107* * *A word scratches him and begs for meaning.He finds most sacredsome red cabbage.Any dust is stance,any brook philosophy.Though the fable is writhinglike woman in heat,he prefers absence.He cannot reach.The rose has digested the nightingale.- Did the Rose Eat the Nightingale?, pg. 117* * *A doubt to rust the body.He casts himself like a die:he rolls under the table.What if her were bu an overcoatfor his skeleton trailing behind him?How many years has the old hatreplaced his skull?Non-being is the abuse of being.He gives the ludicrous a last chance.- A Nail to Hang the Soul, pg. 121* * *A face becomes a brook.A park pursues travellers.The fountain is on saleto any bidder, even a horse.A temple wheels awayto avoid too pure a prayer.A city vanishes:never will he find wallsto rest within.He carries on his backso heavy a kingdom.- A Sidewalk Switches Lanes, pg. 137* * *Pickpocket verb.Verb to be thrown into jail.What syringeto inject poetry?The meekest word cost him an ancient tree,a newly-born mountain,three quarters of the moon.He does justice to insanity.Verb to pleasure like a woman.- Hooligan Verb, pg. 147* * *Why must the dayundo its eve,autumn summer,grown years the years agrowing?Gardens under thesehave rotted.Suns like cast-offraiment perishbeyond this noontide.He has no more questions.There is a must he loves.- Why Must the Day, pg. 157* * *My Russia my Russianot a pebble for me?not an ear of corn spelling my name?not a villagebreaking into a runthe moment I say hello?I am the son of ironyI am the son of doubtin my poemsI tell of uncreated worldsI call upon menall too manuscriptalfear of living drank my bloodand I am awkwardlike a zebra stayed among coltsmy Russia my RussiaI promise to be artless on my returnno longer can I stand this bodiless bodynor this anonymous soul- Seven Yells for Russia, 1, pg. 167* * *Earth writes the earth.The earth sings,and it is for the moon,and it is for the wind who does not know its course.The earth is a handcreating the earth.The earth is a voicespeaking of the flower, the pebble, the furrow.Earth writes manand sings of the weight of timeand weeps over the forgotten season.Earth is memory's memorial.- Earth Writes the Earth, 1, pg. 179