All Poems
/ page 2288 of 3210 /Dream Song 67: I don't operate often. When I do
© John Berryman
I don't operate often. When I do,
persons take note.
Nurses look amazed. They pale.
The patient is brought back to life, or so.
The reason I don't do this more (I quote)
is: I have a living to failâ
Dream Song 37: Three around the Old Gentleman
© John Berryman
His malice was a pimple down his good
big face, with its sly eyes. I must be sorry
Mr Frost has left:
I like it so less I don't understoodâ
he couldn't hear or see wellâall we siftâ
but this is a bad story.
Scopolamine
© Catherine Pozzi
Le vin qui coule dans ma veine
A noyé mon coeur et lentraîne
Et je naviguerai le ciel
A bord dun coeur sans capitaine
Où loubli fond comme du miel.
A Christmas Greeting To K.B.
© Joseph Furphy
While changing Seasons run their course,
Controlled and guided from above,
It is thy part to re-enforce
The broadening stream of Light and Love.
Dream Song 107: Three 'coons come at his garbage. He be cross
© John Berryman
Three 'coons come at his garbage. He be cross,
I figuring porcupine & took Sir poker
unbarring Mr door,
& then screen door. Ah, but the little 'coon,
hardly a foot (not counting tail) got in with
two more at the porch-edge
Another
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Or submissively give in,
Triumph, or else yield to clamour:
Be the anvil or the hammer.
Dream Song 124: Behold I bring you tidings of great joy
© John Berryman
Behold I bring you tidings of great joyâ
especially now that the snow & gale are stillâ
for Henry is delivered.
Not only is he delivered from the gale
but he has a little one. He's out of jail
also. It is a boy.
Every Thing
© Harold Monro
The Kettle puffed a tentacle of breath : --
' Pooh! I have boiled his water, I don't know
Why; and he always says I boil too slow,
He never calls me "Sukie, dear," and oh,
I wonder why I squander my desire
Sitting submissive on his fire.'
Dream Song 15: Let us suppose, valleys & such ago
© John Berryman
Let us suppose, valleys & such ago,
one pal unwinding from his labours in
one bar of Chicago
and this did actually happen. This was so.
And many graces are slipped, & many a sin
even that laid man low
The Borough. Letter IX: Amusements
© George Crabbe
aloud;
She who will tremble if her eye explore
"The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on
Dream Song 66: 'All virtues enter into this world:')
© John Berryman
'All virtues enter into this world:')
A Buddhist, doused in the street, serenely burned.
The Secretary of State for War,
winking it over, screwed a redhaired whore.
Monsignor Capovilla mourned. What a week.
A journalism doggy took a leak
Dream Song 25: Henry, edged, decidedly, made up stories
© John Berryman
Henry, edged, decidedly, made up stories
lighting the past of Henry, of his glorious
present, and his hoaries,
all the bight heals he tampedâ âEuphoria,
Mr Bones, euphoria. Fate clobber all.
âHand me back my crawl,
Dream Song 18: A Strut for Roethke
© John Berryman
Westward, hit a low note, for a roarer lost
across the Sound but north from Bremerton,
hit a way down note.
And never cadenza again of flowers, or cost.
Him who could really do that cleared his throat
& staggered on.
Dream Song 125: Bards freezing, naked, up to the neck in water
© John Berryman
Bards freezing, naked, up to the neck in water,
wholly in dark, time limited, different from
initiations now:
the class in writing, clothed & dry & light,
unlimited time, till Poetry takes some,
nobody reads them though,
Verses Sent To The Corps Of Wantage Volunteer Cavalry On Their Offering Their Services In Any Part O
© Henry James Pye
When loud Invasion with infuriate roar,
With boastful threatening shakes Britannia's shore;
Dream Song 19: Here, whence
© John Berryman
Here, whence
all have departed orwill do, here airless, where
that witchy ball
wanted, fought toward, dreamed of, all a green living
drops limply into one's hands
without pleasure or interest
Dream Song 113: or Amy Vladeck or Riva Freifeld
© John Berryman
That isna Henry limping. That's a hobble
clapped on mere Henry by the most high GOD
for the freedom of Henry's soul.
âThe body's foul, cried god, once, twice, & bound itâ
For many years I hid it from him successfullyâ
I'm not clear how he found it