Sourwood Tales

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Project MUSE - Apples from Shinar

See details. Buy It Now. Add to cart. Be the first to write a review About this product. Originally published in as a part of Wesleyan University Press? The Shepherd?? The love and the words and the simplicity,? With a previously unpublished foreword by Hyam Plutzik and a new afterword by David Scott Kastan, this edition marks the centenary of Plutzik? Additional Product Features Table of Content. And they seem even more alive and special now than they did when I first found them. We two, no doubt, could accommodate ourselves: We've both read Dante and we both dislike Chicago, And both, you see, can be brutal—but you must bow down To our brother Bleistein here, with the unaesthetic Cigar and the somber look.

Come, do so quickly, For we must weep together for our exile. Will stick a needle in your balloon, Thomas.

Horatio: A Poem

Is it the shape that you saw upon the stair? The four knights clanking toward the altar? The hordes on the eastern horizon? Come, brother Burbank, And let us weep together for our exile. In the time of sweet sighing you wept bitterly, And now in the time of weeping you cannot weep.

Will you wait for the peace of the sailor with pearly bones? Where is the refuge you thought you would find on the island Where each man lives in his castle?

O brother Thomas, Come let us weep together for our exile. You drew us first by your scorn, first by your wit; Later for your own eloquent suffering.

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We loved you first for the wicked things you wrote Of those you acknowledged infinitely gentle. Wit is the sin that you must expiate.

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Bow down to them, and let us weep for our exile. I see your words wrung out in pain, but never The true compassion for creatures with you, that Dante Knew in his nine hells. O eagle! The eagle's ways of pride and scorn will not save Though the voice cries loud in humility.

Thomas, Thomas, Come, let us pray together for our exile. Coil upon coil, the grave serpent holds Its implacable strict pose, under a light Like marble. The artist's damnation, the rat of time, Cannot gnaw this form, nor event touch it with age. Before it was, it existed, creating the mind Which created it, out of itself. It will dissolve Into itself, though in another language. Its changes are not in change, nor its times in time.

Richard Wilbur - Wesleyan University Press poetry series (33/83)

And the coiled serpent quivering under a light Crueler than marble, unwinds slowly, altering Deliberate the great convolutions, a dancer, A mime on the brilliant stage. The sudden movement, Swifter than creases of lightning, renews a statue:.

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There by its skin a snake rears beaten in copper. It will not acknowledge the incense on your altars, Nor hear at night in your room the weeping The abrupt appearance of a yellow flower Out of the perfect nothing, is miraculous. The sum of Being, being discontinuous, Must presuppose a God-out-of-the-box Who makes a primal garden of each garden. There is no change, but only re-creation One step ahead. As in the cinema Upon the screen, all motion is illusory.

Hyam Plutzik

So if your mind were keener and could clinch More than its flitting beachhead in the Permanent, You'd see a twinkling world flashing and dying Projected out of a tireless, winking Eye Opening and closing in immensity— Creating, with its look, beside all else Always Adamic passion and innocence The bloodred apple or the yellow flower. Materials for Teachers Materials for Teachers Home. Poems for Kids. Poems for Teens.