Love poems
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Vull a Man
© Ingeborg Bachmann
No, I'm a man, I'm vull a man,
You beat my manhood, if you can.
You'll be a man if you can teake
All steates that household life do meake.
The Girt Woak Tree
© Ingeborg Bachmann
The girt woak tree that's in the dell !
There's noo tree I do love so well;
Vor times an' times when I wer young
I there've a-climb'd, an' there've a-zwung,
The Wife a-Lost
© Ingeborg Bachmann
Since I noo mwore do zee your feace,
Up steairs or down below,
Ill zit me in the lwonesome pleace,
Where flat-boughd beech do grow;
Tokens
© Ingeborg Bachmann
Green mwold on zummer bars do show
That they've a-dripped in winter wet;
The hoof-worn ring o' groun' below
The tree do tell o' storms or het;
The Young that Died in Beauty
© Ingeborg Bachmann
If souls should only sheen so bright
In heaven as in ethly light,
An nothen better wer the cease,
How comely still, in sheape an feace,
The Broken Heart
© Ingeborg Bachmann
News o' grief had overteaken
Dark-eyed Fanny, now vorseaken;
There she zot, wi' breast a-heaven,
While vrom zide to zide, wi' grieven,
John Coltrane
© James A. Emanuel
"Love Supreme," JA-A-Z train,
tops. prompt lightning-express, but
made ALL local stops.
Louis Armstrong And Duke Ellington
© James A. Emanuel
Satchmo's warm burlap,
Duke's cool cashmere: fine fabrics
make your love "Come here!"
Syringa
© John Ashbery
Orpheus liked the glad personal quality
Of the things beneath the sky. Of course, Eurydice was a part
Of this. Then one day, everything changed. He rends
Rocks into fissures with lament. Gullies, hummocks
Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror
© John Ashbery
As Parmigianino did it, the right hand
Bigger than the head, thrust at the viewer
And swerving easily away, as though to protect
What it advertises. A few leaded panes, old beams,
Into the Dusk-Charged Air
© John Ashbery
Birds circle the Ticino. In winter
The Var was dark blue, unfrozen. The
Thwaite, cold, is choked with sandy ice;
The Ardèche glistens feebly through the freezing rain.
Glazunoviana
© John Ashbery
The bear
Drops dead in sight of the window.
Lovely tribes have just moved to the north.
In the flickering evening the martins grow denser.
Rivers of wings surround us and vast tribulation.
Farm Implements and Rutabagas in a Landscape
© John Ashbery
Soon filled the apartment. It was domestic thunder,
The color of spinach. Popeye chuckled and scratched
His balls: it sure was pleasant to spend a day in the country.
Daffy Duck In Hollywood
© John Ashbery
Something strange is creeping across me.
La Celestina has only to warble the first few bars
Of "I Thought about You" or something mellow from
Amadigi di Gaula for everything--a mint-condition can
The Men Who Wear My Clothes
© Vernon Scannell
Sleepless I lay last night and watched the slow
Procession of the men who wear my clothes:
First, the grey man with bloodshot eyes and sly
Gestures miming what he loves and loathes.
Silver Wedding
© Vernon Scannell
The party is over and I sit among
The flotsam that its passing leaves,
The dirty glasses and fag-ends:
Outside, a black wind grieves.
Lesson In Grammar
© Vernon Scannell
THE SENTENCEPerhaps I can make it plain by analogy.
Imagine a machine, not yet assembled,
Each part being quite necessary
To the functioning of the whole: if the job is fumbled
A City Remembered
© Vernon Scannell
Unlovely city, to which few tourists come
With squinting cameras and alien hats;
Left under a cloud by those who love the sun
And can afford to marry a cloud of bits
Compass Rose
© Jennifer Reeser
Id buy you a Babushka doll, my heart,
and brush your ash-blonde hair until it gleams,
were Russia and our land not laid apart
by ocean so much deeper than it seems.
Elizabeth Leaves A Letter For Dr. Frankenstein
© Jennifer Reeser
Whether the clouds had abandoned Geneva that evening
no one can say now, but what I remember are roses
bruised at their edges, and china cups yellowed with age.
I am too sick of interior vapors, I told you,
