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arms Barby beat beauty beneath black couch blackbird blind blown blue blue-grey birds blue-grey buds body brain cerulean bolsters color curled dance dark dishes to eat door dress dust eat our meals EBB SAND enervating dusk eyes fairy bell fear feet fingers four-room geraniums Gina GIRL grass gray green pillows grey half hand heart hill kiss lamp muttered lamp sputtered leaf lean lemon silk divan light loam lonely look looking-glass lush lawn memory midnight Miovanni moon narrow garden never old tune one-room home PANTOMIME Parsley peace petals poplars quiet quiver rain sadness SAND AND STARS shadow shining shutters silence sleep smells smile snow song soul SPRING stars street lamp things thought three walls three-room tired tree twist two-room unborn weary whisper wind shifts window is stained woman wonder yellow shades
Page 36 - His soul stretched tight across the skies That fade behind a city block, Or trampled by insistent feet At four and five and six o'clock; And short square fingers stuffing pipes And evening newspapers, and eyes Assured of certain certainties, The conscience of a blackened street Impatient to assume the world.
Page 35 - The winter evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o'clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps The grimy scraps Of withered leaves about your feet And newspapers from vacant lots; The showers beat On broken blinds and chimney-pots, And at the corner of the street A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. And then the lighting of the lamps.
Page 109 - I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling Or just after.
Page 116 - I when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees, — if I in my north room dance naked, grotesquely before my mirror waving my shirt round my head and singing softly to myself: "I am lonely, lonely. I was born to be lonely. I am best so!
Page 36 - You tossed a blanket from the bed, You lay upon your back, and waited; You dozed, and watched the night revealing The thousand sordid images Of which your soul was constituted; They flickered against the ceiling.
Page 110 - Why do you imagine golden birds ? Do you not see how the blackbird Walks around the feet Of the women about you ? VIII I know noble accents And lucid, inescapable rhythms; But I know, too,. That the blackbird is involved In what I know. IX When the blackbird flew out of sight, It marked the edge Of one of many circles.
Page 74 - ... into the lawn, and returned to the point from which it had started. Then abandoning the stick as useless and overtaxing its jaws with a particle of whitewash - pill-like but heavy — it again went through the same course of procedure. What is there in being able to say that one has dominated the stream in an attitude of self-defense; in proving that one has had the experience of carrying a stick?
Page 38 - I could see nothing behind that child's eye. I have seen eyes in the street Trying to peer through lighted shutters, And a crab one afternoon in a pool, An old crab with barnacles on his back, Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
Page 36 - And when all the world came back And the light crept up between the shutters, And you heard the sparrows in the gutters, You had such a vision of the street As the street hardly understands...
Page 37 - Twelve o'clock. Along the reaches of the street Held in a lunar synthesis, Whispering lunar incantations Dissolve the floors of memory And all its clear relations, Its divisions and precisions, Every street lamp that I pass Beats like a fatalistic drum, And through the spaces of the dark Midnight shakes the memory As a madman shakes a dead geranium. Half-past one, The...