|
|
|
Best Poems From
ROBERT DICKERSON
|
|
| |
|
|
45.
|
Gauche
So gauche, even his use of
'malapropism' was a malapropism.
robert dickerson
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
46.
|
Girls
I knew it would be like this today
All day: morning, noon and night
on the train, in the park, in the street
beautiful girls like great cats
starting from nowhere, everywhere,
menacing, teasing, smiling faintly, cruel,
making the vast city a mysterious jungle;
Lovely girls
seams bursting, collars open, sleeves rolled,
hurrying on or strolling abstracted,
'round corners, through doors, into cars
they turn and pass away;
light-footed, clear-eyed, delicately furred,
smokey topaz, pink sapphire, emeraude
Beautiful girls
like boas, dropping from trees and gliding away,
the vast city a jungle.
I knew it would be like this today
all day, morning, noon and night
beautiful girls, from nowhere, everywhere.
robert dickerson
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
47.
|
Idyl
After a full hoour
of winkling, toe twinkling
napping, tapping,
soothing, sighing,
blowsing, drowsing
in the sun, on the green
under a crabtree
my obsession got up
yawned, and walked away.
robert dickerson
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
48.
|
Lorelei
That was the hardest thing to fqthom-
there was nothing unseemly in her singing,
nothing lewd
to make a cleric tremble:
nothing forboding
to kindle a heros' innermost deathwish;
nothing that bespoke hull hell
or shrill lamentations of nails
hauled from their timbery slips
mastheads snapped
and men strewn like cabbages on the flood.
And when the tiny boats beetled into view
bobbing inverted along visions keel
(she had no prescience, no magic quick)
laden with cotton, neatly stowed hoeheads and sill,
you would swear it became, mere Rhine chanty,
a canticle of all innocence, Purity itself,
steeped in indifference. A taunt. A thing
self-loving solitude to herself might sing
to help her sleep, on some cloud-communing ledge,
gently admonishing the stars
for their too-loud shining.
Illimitably sweet.
effortless, a purl
sinuous, oblivious,
casual as a tide;
entering the wrapt ear as moonshine
enters the astonished pupil-instant hippus,
delectable contusion
converging in pleasant confusion
lightly as moths that flit above beanstalks
pintails etching the violet vellum
of falling night.
robert dickerson
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|