Bitter pill

cummings

e.e. cummings, 1926

“Entropical Question” — Tom Clark

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I tried to scratch up a few lines on rereading William Gaddis’s novel The Recognition this afternoon, but distracted myself by remembering this poem of Tom Clark’s (collected in Paradise Resisted) which is an oblique summary of said novel (or not. Why should it be? It isn’t. There’s only my will here, trying to organize these keystrokes into thoughts of some order. Happy Friday).

Kill them in their flush of bloom

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From On the Slain Collegians: Selections from the poems of Herman Melville. Edited, and with woodcuts by Antonio Frasconi. Noonday Press, 1971.

“We play at paste” — Emily Dickinson

paste

Misgivings (Herman Melville/Antonio Frasconi)

misgivings

From On the Slain Collegians: Selections from the poems of Herman Melville. Edited, and with woodcuts by Antonio Frasconi. Noonday Press, 1971.

“A Time to Talk” — Robert Frost

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“The pedigree of honey” — Emily Dickinson

honey

“Re-Statement of Romance” — Wallace Stevens

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Soft as it began— (Langston Hughes)

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“One Year ago–jots what?” — Emily Dickinson

“One Year ago–jots what?”

by

Emily Dickinson

One Year ago—jots what?
God—spell the word! I—can’t—
Was’t Grace? Not that—
Was’t Glory? That—will do—
Spell slower—Glory—

Such Anniversary shall be—
Sometimes—not often—in Eternity—
When farther Parted, than the Common Woe—
Look—feed upon each other’s faces—so—
In doubtful meal, if it be possible
Their Banquet’s true—

I tasted—careless—then—
I did not know the Wine
Came once a World—Did you?
Oh, had you told me so—
This Thirst would blister—easier—now—
You said it hurt you—most—
Mine—was an Acorn’s Breast—
And could not know how fondness grew
In Shaggier Vest—
Perhaps—I couldn’t—
But, had you looked in—
A Giant—eye to eye with you, had been—
No Acorn—then—

So—Twelve months ago—
We breathed—
Then dropped the Air—
Which bore it best?
Was this—the patientest—
Because it was a Child, you know—
And could not value—Air?

If to be “Elder”—mean most pain—
I’m old enough, today, I’m certain—then—
As old as thee—how soon?
One—Birthday more—or Ten?
Let me—choose!
Ah, Sir, None!

I have a bad cold – Fernando Pessoa / Álvaro de Campos

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(Translation: Richard Zenith.)

“Dickensian Children” — Roberto Bolaño

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Finikin thing of air (Wallace Stevens)

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“And Who Do You Think ‘They’ Are?” — William Carlos Williams

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“I am alive—I guess” — Emily Dickinson

“I am alive—I guess”
by
Emily Dickinson

I am alive—I guess—
The Branches on my Hand
Are full of Morning Glory—
And at my finger’s end—

The Carmine—tingles warm—
And if I hold a Glass
Across my Mouth—it blurs it—
Physician’s—proof of Breath—

I am alive—because
I am not in a Room—
The Parlor—Commonly—it is—
So Visitors may come—

And lean—and view it sidewise—
And add “How cold—it grew”—
And “Was it conscious—when it stepped
In Immortality?”

I am alive—because
I do not own a House—
Entitled to myself—precise—
And fitting no one else—

And marked my Girlhood’s name—
So Visitors may know
Which Door is mine—and not mistake—
And try another key—

How good—to be alive!
How infinite—to be
Alive—two-fold—the birth I had—
And this—besides, in Thee!

“Tomorrow” — Langston Hughes

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“In Neglect” — Robert Frost

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