All Poems

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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 fail—

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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 understood—
he couldn't hear or see well—all we sift—
but this is a bad story.

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Scopolamine

© Catherine Pozzi

Le vin qui coule dans ma veine
A noyé mon coeur et l’entraîne
Et je naviguerai le ciel
A bord d’un coeur sans capitaine
Où l’oubli fond comme du miel.

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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.

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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

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Another

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Or submissively give in,
Triumph, or else yield to clamour:
Be the anvil or the hammer.

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Dream Song 124: Behold I bring you tidings of great joy

© John Berryman

Behold I bring you tidings of great joy—
especially now that the snow & gale are still—
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.

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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.'

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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

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The Borough. Letter IX: Amusements

© George Crabbe

aloud;
She who will tremble if her eye explore
"The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on

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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

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The Birth Of Man

© Emma Lazarus

A Legend of the Talmud.

I.

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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 tamped— —Euphoria,
Mr Bones, euphoria. Fate clobber all.
—Hand me back my crawl,

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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.

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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,

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Somnium Mystici

© George MacDonald

A Microcosm In Terza Rima


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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;

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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

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Ode VII: On The Use Of Poetry

© Mark Akenside

I.

Not for themselves did human kind

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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.
—The body's foul, cried god, once, twice, & bound it—
For many years I hid it from him successfully—
I'm not clear how he found it