#AmericanWriters
All morning in the strawberry fiel… They talked about the Russians. Squatted down between the rows We listened. We heard the head woman say,
On this bald hill the new year hon… Faceless and pale as china The round sky goes on minding its… Your absence is inconspicuous; Nobody can tell what I lack.
Compelled by calamity’s magnet They loiter and stare as if the ho… Burnt—out were theirs, or as if th… Some scandal might any minute ooze From a smoke—choked closet into li…
Nightfall, cold eye——neither dishe… These goatish tragedians who Hawk misfortune like figs and chic… And, plaintiff against each day, d… Nature’s partial, haphazard thumb.
I know the bottom, she says. I kn… It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been the… Is it the sea you hear in me, Its dissatisfactions?
This is a dark house, very big. I made it myself, Cell by cell from a quiet corner, Chewing at the grey paper, Oozing the glue drops,
The courage of the shut mouth, in… The line pink and quiet, a worm, b… There are black disks behind it, t… And the outrage of a sky, the line… The disks revolve, they ask to be…
They are always with us, the thin… Meager of dimension as the gray pe… On a movie—screen. They Are unreal, we say: It was only in a movie, it was onl…
Through portico of my elegant hous… With your wild furies, disturbing… And the fabulous lutes and peacock… Of all decorum which holds the whi… Now, rich order of walls is fallen…
I made a fire; being tired Of the white fists of old Letters and their death rattle When I came too close to the wast… What did they know that I didn’t?
'Tea leaves I’ve given up, And that crooked line On the queen’s palm Is no more my concern. On my black pilgrimage
From under the crunch of my man’s… green oat-sprouts jut; he names a lapwing, starts rabbits… legging it most nimble to sprigged hedge of bramble,
From Water-Tower Hill to the bri… The shingle booms, bickering under The sea’s collapse. Snowcakes break and welter. This… The gritted wave leaps
Outside in the street I hear A car door slam; voices coming nea… Incoherent scraps of talk And high heels clicking up the wal… The doorbell rends the noonday hea…
In the rectory garden on his eveni… Paced brisk Father Shawn. A cold… In black Novemeber. After a slidi… Dew stood in chill sweat on each s… Each thorn; spiring from wet earth…