The End Of Your Life (Philip Levine Poems)
First light. This misted field is the world, that man slipping the greased bolt back and forth, that man tunneled ...
First light. This misted field is the world, that man slipping the greased bolt back and forth, that man tunneled ...
Brooklyn, 1929. Of course Crane's been drinking and has no idea who this curious Andalusian is, unable even to speak ...
The day comes slowly in the railyard behind the ice factory. It broods on one cinder after another until each ...
from St. Ambrose He fears the tiger standing in his way. The tiger takes its time, it smiles and growls. ...
Numb, stiff, broken by no sleep, I keep night watch. Looking for signs to quiet fear, I creep closer to ...
Something has fallen wordlessly and holds still on the black driveway. You find it, like a jewel, among the empty ...
Dawn coming in over the fields of darkness takes me by surprise and I look up from my solitary road ...
You pull over to the shoulder of the two-lane road and sit for a moment wondering where you were going ...
People sit numbly at the counter waiting for breakfast or service. Today it's Hartford, Connecticut more than twenty-five years after ...
Unknown faces in the street And winter coming on. I Stand in the last moments of The city, no more ...
Rain filled the streets once a year, rising almost to door and window sills, battering walls and roofs until it ...
The gates are chained, the barbed-wire fencing stands, An iron authority against the snow, And this grey monument to common ...
In Havana in 1948 I ate fried dog believing it was Peking duck. Later, in Tampa I bunked with an ...
after Juan Ramon A child wakens in a cold apartment. The windows are frosted. Outside he hears words rising from ...
A good man is seized by the police and spirited away. Months later someone brags that he shot him once ...
from an officer's diary during the last war I The sour daylight cracks through my sleep-caked lids. "Stephan! Stephan!" The ...
We stand in the rain in a long line waiting at Ford Highland Park. For work. You know what work ...
Words go on travelling from voice to voice while the phones are still and the wires hum in the cold. ...
I walk among the rows of bowed heads-- the children are sleeping through fourth grade so as to be ready ...
The river rises and the rains keep coming. My Papa says it can't flood for the water can run away ...
19 years old and going nowhere, I got a ride to Bessemer and walked the night road toward Birmingham passing ...
In Lake Forest, a suburb of Chicago, a woman sits at her desk to write me a letter. She holds ...
April, and the last of the plum blossoms scatters on the black grass before dawn. The sycamore, the lime, the ...
THE DREAM This has nothing to do with war or the end of the world. She dreams there are gray ...
Early March. The cold beach deserted. My kids home in a bare house, bundled up and listening to rock music ...
On March 1, 1958, four deserters from the French Army of North Africa, August Rein, Henri Bruette, Jack Dauville, & ...
When the Lieutenant of the Guardia de Asalto heard the automatic go off, he turned and took the second shot ...
All afternoon my father drove the country roads between Detroit and Lansing. What he was looking for I never learned, ...
Green fingers holding the hillside, mustard whipping in the sea winds, one blood-bright poppy breathing in and out. The odor ...
Torn into light, you woke wriggling on a woman's palm. Halved, quartered, shredded to the wind, you were the life ...
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