Poems

Pure Pedantry

Category archives for Poems

A Book Of Music by Jack Spicer Coming at an end, the lovers Are exhausted like two swimmers. Where Did it end? There is no telling. No love is Like an ocean with the dizzy procession of the waves’ boundaries From which two can emerge exhausted, nor long goodbye Like death. Coming at an end.…

The Unknown Citizen by W. H. Auden (To JS/07 M 378 This Marble Monument Is Erected by the State) He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be One against whom there was no official complaint, And all the reports on his conduct agree That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he…

A Good Poem: Canto XIV by Ezra Pound

Canto XIV by Ezra Pound Io venni in luogo d’ogni luce muto; The stench of wet coal, politicians . . . . . . . . . . e and. . . . . n, their wrists bound to     their ankles, Standing bare bum, Faces smeared on their rumps,     wide eye on flat buttock, Bush…

The Bistro Styx by Rita Dove She was thinner, with a mannered gauntness as she paused just inside the double glass doors to survey the room, silvery cape billowing dramatically behind her. What’s this, I thought, lifting a hand until she nodded and started across the parquet; that’s when I saw she was dressed all…

When Ecstasy is Inconvenient by Lorine Niedecker Feign a great calm; all gay transport soon ends. Chant: who knows — flight’s end or flight’s beginning for the resting gull? Heart, be still. Say there is money but it rusted; say the time of moon is not right for escape. It’s the color in the lower…

Poem of the Week: 2 Poems about War

The Man He Killed by Thomas Hardy “Had he and I but met By some old ancient inn, We should have sat us down to wet Right many a nipperkin!

In Memory of Sigmund Freud by W.H. Auden When there are so many we shall have to mourn, when grief has been made so public, and exposed to the critique of a whole epoch the frailty of our conscience and anguish, of whom shall we speak? For every day they die among us, those who…

(That would be Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr., not Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. — the Supreme Court Justice.) Daily Trials by a Sensitive Man by Oliver Wendell Holmes Oh, there are times When all this fret and tumult that we hear Do seem more stale than to the sexton’s ear His own dull chimes. Ding dong!…

The Age Demanded by Ernest Miller Hemingway The age demanded that we sing And cut away our tongue. The age demanded that we flow And hammered in the bung. The age demanded that we dance And jammed us into iron pants. And in the end the age was handed The sort of shit that it…

The Labyrinth by W.H. Auden Anthropos apteros for days Walked whistling round and round the Maze, Relying happily upon His temperament for getting on. The hundredth time he sighted, though, A bush he left an hour ago, He halted where four alleys crossed, And recognized that he was lost.