James Joyce - Chamber Music II

The twilight turns from amethyst 
To deep and deeper blue, 
The lamp fills with a pale green glow 
The trees of the avenue. 

The old piano plays an air, 
Sedate and slow and gay; 
She bends upon the yellow keys, 
Her head inclines this way. 

Shy thought and grave wide eyes and hands 
That wander as they list -- - 
The twilight turns to darker blue 
With lights of amethyst.

Walt Whitman - Beginners

How they are provided forAnnotate upon the earth, (appearing at intervals,)
How dear and dreadful they are to the earth,
How they inure to themselves as much as to any—what a paradox
appears their age,
How people respond to them, yet know them not,
How there is something relentless in their fate all times,
How all times mischoose the objects of their adulation and reward,
And how the same inexorable price must still be paid for the same
great purchase.

Walt Whitman - Beginning My Studies

Beginning my studies the first step pleas'd me so much,
The mere fact consciousness, these forms, the power of motion,
The least insect or animal, the senses, eyesight, love,
The first step I say awed me and pleas'd me so much,
I have hardly gone and hardly wish'd to go any farther,
But stop and loiter all the time to sing it in ecstatic songs.

T. E. Hulme - Autumn

A touch of cold in the Autumn night—
I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded,
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children.

William Carlos Williams - Apology

Why do I write today?

The beauty of 
the terrible faces
of our nonenties
stirs me to it:

coloured women
day workers
old and experiences-
returning home at dusk 
in cast off clothing
faces like
old Florentine oak.

also

The set pieces
Of our faces stir me-
leading citizens-
but not
in the same way.

e.e. cummings - my sweet old etcetera

my sweet old etcetera
aunt lucy during the recent
war could and what
is more did tell you just
what everybody was fighting
for,
my sister
Isabel created hundreds
(and
hundreds)of socks not to
mention fleaproof earwarmers
etcetera wristers etcetera, my
mother hoped that
i would die etcetera
bravely of course my father used
to become hoarse talking about how it was
a privilege and if only he
could meanwhile my
self etcetera lay quietly
in the deep mud et
cetera
(dreaming,
et
cetera, of
Your smile
eyes knees and of your Etcetera)

Frank O'Hara - Mayakovsky

1

My heart’s aflutter!

I am standing in the bath tub

crying. Mother, mother

who am I? If he

will just come back once

and kiss me on the face

his coarse hair brush

my temple, it’s throbbing!

then I can put on my clothes

I guess, and walk the streets.

2

I love you. I love you,

but I’m turning to my verses

and my heart is closing

like a fist.

Words! be

sick as I am sick, swoon,

roll back your eyes, a pool,

and I’ll stare down

at my wounded beauty

which at best is only a talent

for poetry.

Cannot please, cannot charm or win

what a poet!

and the clear water is thick

with bloody blows on its head.

I embrace a cloud,

but when I soared

it rained.

3

That’s funny! there’s blood on my chest

oh yes, I’ve been carrying bricks

what a funny place to rupture!

and now it is raining on the ailanthus

as I step out onto the window ledge

the tracks below me are smoky and

glistening with a passion for running

I leap into the leaves, green like the sea

4

Now I am quietly waiting for

the catastrophe of my personality

to seem beautiful again,

and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and

brown and white in trees,

snows and skies of laughter

always diminishing, less funny

not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of

the year, what does he think of

that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,

perhaps I am myself again.

Sterling A. Brown - Slim In Atlanta

Down in Atlanta.

De whitefolks got laws

For to keep all de niggers

From laughin’ outdoors.

Hope to Gawd I may die

If I ain’t speakin’ truth

Make de niggers do deir laughin’

In a telefoam booth.

Slim Greer hit de town

An’ de rebs got him told,-

“Doncha laugh on de street,

if you want to die old.”

Den dey showed him de booth,

An’ a hundred shines

In front of it, waitin’

In double lines.

Slim thought his sides

Would bust in two,

Yelled, “Lookout, everybody,

I’m coming through!”

Pulled de other man out,

An’ bust in de box,

An’ laughed four hours

By de Georgia clocks.

Den he peeked through de door,

An’ what did he see?

Three hundred niggers there

In misery.-

Some holdin’ deir sides,

Some holdin’ deir jaws,

To keep from breakin’

de Georgia laws.

An’ Slim gave a holler,

An’ started again;

An’ from three hundred throats

Come a moan of pain.

An’ everytime Slim

Saw what was outside,

Got to whoopin’ again

Till he nearly died.

An’ while de poor critters

Was waitin’ deir chance,

Slim laughed till dey sent

Fo’ de ambulance.

De state paid de railroad

To take him away;

Den, things was as usural

In Atlanta, Gee A.

Александр Введенский - Битва

Н е и з в е с т н о  к т о

мы двое
воюем
в свирепую ночь
и воем
и дуем
и думаем
дочь
и эта война
как таинственный ствол 
малютка вина
я думаю темя 
проносится час
с минутами теми 
на яблоке мчась
я тучу поймаю
другая спешит
я небо снимаю
и демон пищит
летают болтают
большие орлы
мурлычут глотают
добычу ослы
но с кем ты воюешь
смешной человек
и стоя тоскуешь
стучишь в голове?
воюю со свечкой
в ночной тесноте
и памяти речка 
стучит в темноте

Ч е л о в е к

человек ровесник миру
в то же время с ним рождён
ходит с палкой по Памиру
удручён и поражён
где же, где же? он бормочет
где найду я сон и дом
или дождь меня замочит
кем я создан? кем ведом?
наконец-то я родился
наконец-то я в миру
наконец я удавился
наконец-то я умру

М а л ю т к а  в и н а

умираем
умираем
за возвышенным сараем
на дворе 
или на стуле
на ковре
или от пули
на полу
иль под полом
иль в кафтане долгополом 
забавляясь на балу
в пыльной шапке 
в пыльной тряпке
будь богатый будь убогий
одинаково везде
мы уносимся как боги
к окончательной звезде
человек лежит унылый
он уж больше не жилец
он теперь клиент могилы
и богов загробных жрец
на груди сияет свечка
и едва открыт глазок
из ушей гнилая речка
вяло мочит образок
а над ним рыдает мама
и визжит его птенец
Боже что за панорама
скажет мёртвый наконец
вижу туловище Бога
вижу грозные глаза
но могила как берлога
над могилою лоза
умираю умираю
и скучаю и скорблю
дней тарелку озираю
боль зловещую терплю

А н г е л

это что грозди?

М а л ю т к а в и н а

два бойца
два конца
посредине гвоздик

Н е и з в е с т н о  к т о

мы двое
воем
лежим
и тлеем
слегка жужжим
бежим и млеем
летит над нами бог зимы
но кто же мы?