Dream Song 110: It was the blue & plain ones. I forget all that (John Berryman Poem)
It was the blue & plain ones. I forget all that. My own clouds darkening hung. Besides, it wasn't serious. ...
It was the blue & plain ones. I forget all that. My own clouds darkening hung. Besides, it wasn't serious. ...
NO more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk. A final glass for me, though: cool, i' faith! We ...
either peace or happiness, let it enfold you when i was a young man I felt these things were dumb,unsophisticated. ...
On the unbreathing sides of hills they play, a specklike girl and boy, alone, but near a specklike house. The ...
From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning, please come flying. In a cloud of fiery pale chemicals, ...
For John Malcolm Brinnin and Bill Read: Duxbury It was cold and windy, scarcely the day to take a walk ...
The half-shut doors through which we heard that music Are softly closed. Horns mutter down to silence. The stars whirl ...
Wind blows. Snow falls. The great clock in its tower Ticks with reverberant coil and tolls the hour: At the ...
Midnight; bells toll, and along the cloud-high towers The golden lights go out . . . The yellow windows darken, ...
The white fog creeps from the cold sea over the city, Over the pale grey tumbled towers,- And settles among ...
My dearest Frank, I wish you joy Of Mary's safety with a Boy, Whose birth has given little pain Compared ...
This is the lair of the landlady She is a raw voice loose in the rooms beneath me. the continuous ...
My daughter plays on the floor with plastic letters, red, blue & hard yellow, learning how to spell, spelling, how ...
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, ...
Now who could take you off to tiny life In one room or in two rooms or in three And ...
and the sun weilds mercy but like a jet torch carried to high, and the jets whip across its sight ...
Rudolph Reed was oaken. His wife was oaken too. And his two good girls and his good little man Oakened ...
I sit here on the 2nd floor hunched over in yellow pajamas still pretending to be a writer. some damned ...
They are building a house half a block down and I sit up here with the shades down listening to ...
ah, christ, what a CREW: more poetry, always more P O E T R Y . if it doesn't come, ...
I want to beg you, as much as I can, to be patient toward all that is unresolved in your ...
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