Mr. Cogito and the Imagination (Zbigniew Herbert Poems)
Mr. Cogito never trustedtricks of the imaginationthe piano at the top of the Alpsplayed false concerts for himhe didn't appreciate ...
Mr. Cogito never trustedtricks of the imaginationthe piano at the top of the Alpsplayed false concerts for himhe didn't appreciate ...
THE horns of the moon are tippedWith pearl. Her lover, wooedBy charms and won, Endymion,Inherits quietude.White the gleamOf the dreamOn ...
Be Daedalus: make wings,Make feathered wings;Bind them with wax. Avoid the parching sun that brings Death as its tax. Suns can be brutal ...
A branch in flower frames the sea.Some ships dream of the universe; On shore the sheep stand drowsily.Icarus has fallen ...
? Maxime du CampIFor the child, in love with globe, and stamps,the universe equals his vast appetite.Ah! How great the ...
Some said it was a shooting star,Some said it was a pheasant;It was the most surprising thingTo villager and peasant.To ...
I woulde it were not as it isOr that I cared not yea or no;I woulde I thoughte it not ...
(AN AERIAL RETROSPECT)What was it filled my youthful dreams,In place of Greek or Latin themes,Or beauty's wild, bewildering beams? ...
Consider Icarus, pasting those sticky wintgs on, testing that strange little tug at his shoulder blade, and think of that ...
the dream of the white bird flying offers a freedom as tasty as nectar how our lips purse to the ...
(a) they seek to celebrate the word not to bring their knives out on a poem dissecting it to find ...
it began as a secret desire (an itch in the marrow too vague to get through to the bone) an ...
I held the switch in trembling fingers, asked why existence felt so small, so purposeless, like a minnow wriggling feebly ...
The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits, The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates, ...
Fanfare of northwest wind, a bluejay wind announces autumn, and the equinox rolls back blue bays to a far afternoon. ...
I. He was a Grecian lad, who coming home With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily Stood at his galley's ...
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field the whole pageantry of the ...
It was also my violent heart that broke, falling down the front hall stairs. It was also a message I ...
Consider Icarus, pasting those sticky wintgs on, testing that strange little tug at his shoulder blade, and think of that ...
Too volatile, am I?too voluble?too much a word-person? I blame the soup:I'm a primordially stirred person. Two pronouns and a ...
As I sit at my desk wishing I did not have to edit a book on poetry and painting a ...
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