Where are your monuments, your bat… Where is your tribal memory? Sirs… in that gray vault. The sea. The… has locked them up. The sea is Hi… First, there was the heaving oil,
So much rain, so much life like th… of this black August. My sister,… broods in her yellow room and won’… Everything goes to hell; the mount… like a kettle, rivers overrun; sti…
Night, the black summer, simplifie… into a village; she assumes the im… musk of the negro, grows secret as… her alleys odorous with shucked oy… coals of gold oranges, braziers of…
Koening knew now there was no one… Entering its brown mouth choking w… and curtained with midges, Koenig… past the abandoned ferry and the f… coated with coal dust. Staying abo…
After that hot gospeller has level… I wrote the tale by tallow of a ci… Under a candle’s eye, that smoked… Wanted to tell, in more than wax,… All day I walked abroad among the…
This coral’s hape ecohes the hand It hollowed. Its Immediate absence is heavy. As pu… As your breast in my cupped palm. Sea-cold, its nipple rasps like sa…
Those villages stricken with the m… in all of whose ocher streets one… those volcanoes like ashen roses,… of poverty, around whose puckered… selling yellow sulphur stone
A wind is ruffling the tawny pelt Of Africa, Kikuyu, quick as flies… Batten upon the bloodstreams of th… Corpses are scattered through a pa… Only the worm, colonel of carrion,…
BOOK SIX Chapter XLIV In hill-towns, from San Fernando… the same sunrise stirred the feath… down the archipelago’s highways. T…
As for that other thing which comes when the eyelid is gla… and the wax gleam from the unwrinkled forehead asks no more questions
I came up out of the subway and th… people standing on the steps as if… something I didn’t. This was in t… and nuclear fallout. I looked and… was empty, I mean utterly, and I…
Then all the nations of birds lift… the huge net of the shadows of thi… in multitudinous dialects, twitter… stitching and crossing it. They li… the shadows of long pines down tra…
though our longest sun sets at rig… makes but winter arches, it cannot be long before we lie do… have our light in ashes. . . Browne, Urn Burial
Man, I suck me tooth when I hear How dem croptime fiddlers lie, And de wailing, kiss-me-arse flute… That bring water to me eye! Oh, when I t’ink how from young
[for Alix Walcott] Between the vision of the Tourist… Paradise lies the desert where Is… force a rose from the sand. The th… cores the dawn clouds with concent…