A Worldly Country: New Poems - download pdf or read online
By John Ashbery
Thrill of a Romance
It's assorted if you have hiccups.
every little thing is—so many blissful arms competing
to your awareness, a headscarf, a gasp of soot,
or simply a blast of silence from a radio.
what's it? That's so that you can research
for your dismay while, on the finish of a protracted queue
within the cafeteria, tray in hand, they let you know the gate closed down
after the second one global battle. Syracuse used to be declared capital
of a country in malaise, however the directorate
had different, hidden pursuits. To proclaim good judgment
a casualty of fact was once one.
Everyone's solitude (and ensuing promiscuity)
perfumed the byways of villages we had concept civilized.
I observed you watching for a streetcar and pressed ahead.
sadly, you have been just a baby in armor. Now while ribald toasts
sail around a desk too reasonable laid out, why the results
are just airborne dirt and dust, disorder and previous age. friendly stories
are only that. So I channel no matter what
into my contingency, a vein of mercury
that retains breaking out, better up, extra on time
at any time when. Dirndls noticed with out of date flora,
worn within the urban back, advertise open discussion.
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Extra info for A Worldly Country: New Poems
Floral and verbal, I am in the thick of what I would rather be doing, jumping off a cliff, rousing subordinates. There are just so many things one would rather be caught out doing, like measuring the tree, the swift shadow of which menaces us and bluebirds. Oh the mill sang of many things but its wheel was always rolling whether you noticed it or not. The wheel that is still today but much larger. It cautioned us to leave but we slept the exact duration of the idea that never leaves us now. 34 So, Yes Kids probably don’t know what they’re saying, and we, we’re one shy of all the stepchildren it took to get here.
To proclaim logic a casualty of truth was one. Everyone’s solitude (and resulting promiscuity) perfumed the byways of villages we had thought civilized. I saw you waiting for a streetcar and pressed forward. Alas, you were only a child in armor. Now when ribald toasts sail round a table too fair laid out, why the consequences are only dust, disease and old age. Pleasant memories are just that. So I channel whatever into my contingency, a vein of mercury that keeps breaking out, higher up, more on time every time.
The abstemious think otherwise, keep to themselves in hazy rituals whose ultimate purpose gets blotted out by new trends in passionate landscapery. Are we better for it? I ask you. Subway chiming, ghost pilgrims ﬂowing through revolving doors. All change reassures the nattering classes. They can have what they want as long as nobody much takes an interest in it. The dim ﬂood restores us to our senses. What time is it? Or was it? Would you say those ﬁgures are accurate? Did a dream publish you as you turned in sleep to that other accessory, who waited so long that the life drained out of his circumstance?
A Worldly Country: New Poems by John Ashbery