.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ for a mouse, a hat

      to cover the dark marches and the small

      confidences laid on cushions before daybreak

      when fountains plash and mirrors reflect

      the thick mud where armies have passed.

Upside Down

      Old slugger-the-bat

      don’t try to control me

      I’ve a cold in my head

      and a pain in one side

      it’s the cautious climate

      of birds.

      Where the bitter night shows

      fat as an owl the skeleton

      not counting the skin.

      This species can’t bite,

      but it has a hurt. We’ve all got birds

      flying at us

      little ones over the toes.

      The hand that holds is webbed

      no knuckles

      but the bone grows.

Seeing You Off

      Bracketed in my own barn

      where ignorant as those armies

      I flash my light upon the Hudson

      and shout continental factories

      take fire! Send navies out from Jersey

      let there be more edens

      of soap and fats

      Such splendors make rigid a democracy

      define its skeleton

      permit the night to cleanse its air

      with moving vans

      olympic as dawn

      Upon the big liner

      moored at last

      by little landscape poems

      frail as lifeboats

      settling down to rest

      While we kiss in the saloon

      far above the cries

      from plows and auto parts

      sending up goodbyes

      as ugly as those waifs of paper

      on the pier

      or that truck profiled into gloom

      his whole insides protest

      Departures make disgust into a cartoon

      of rose Nabiscos and I digest

      the sinking afternoon in a fleet

      of taxicabs dead sure as you

      and Carthage after?

      we’ll float on that wine-dark sea

Safe Flights

      To no longer like the taste of whisky

      This is saying also no to you who are

      A goldfinch in the breeze,

      To no longer wish winter to have explanations

      To lace your shoes in the snow

      With no need to remember,

      To no longer pull the two blankets

      Over your shoulders, to no longer feel the cold,

      To no longer pretend in the flower

      There is a secret, or in the earth a tomb,

      And no longer water on stone hurting the ear,

      Making those five noises of thunder

      And you tremble no longer.

      To no longer travel over mountains,

      Over small farms

      No longer the weather changing and the atmosphere

      Causing delicate breaks where the nerves confuse,

      To no longer have your name shouted

      And your birthmark again described,

      To no longer fear where the rapids break

      A miniature rock under your canoe,

      To no longer repeat the mirror is water,

      The house is a burden to the weak cyclone,

      You are under a tent where promises perform

      And the ring you grasp as an aerialist

      Glides, no longer.

Sadness

      We were walking down a narrow street.

      It was late autumn. In my hotel room

      the steam heat had been turned on. In the office

      buildings, in the boutiques, coal was lit.

      That morning I had been standing at the window

      looking out on the Tuileries. I had been crying

      because the yellow tulips were gone and all the children

      were wearing thin coats. I felt an embarrassing pain

      distributed over my arms which were powerless

      to order the leaves to blossom or the old women

      on the stairs to buy shoes to cover their feet.

      Then you took my hand. You told me that love

      was a sudden disturbance of the nerve ends

      that startled the fibres and made them new

      again. You quoted a song about СКАЧАТЬ