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diff --git a/0475/poetry/anthology.tex b/0475/poetry/anthology.tex deleted file mode 100644 index 91e43ae..0000000 --- a/0475/poetry/anthology.tex +++ /dev/null @@ -1,473 +0,0 @@ -\documentclass[11pt, parskip=half-]{scrartcl} - -\AddToHook{cmd/section/before}{\clearpage} - -\usepackage{fontspec} -\setsansfont{Arial} -\renewcommand{\familydefault}{\sfdefault} - -\usepackage{geometry} -\geometry{ - top=2cm, - bottom=1cm, - includefoot -} - -\title{Poetry Revision} -\author{From Songs of Ourselves Volume 1 Part 4} - - -\begin{document} -\maketitle -\tableofcontents - -\section{The City Planners} - -Cruising these residential Sunday\\ -streets in dry August sunlight:\\ -what offends us is\\ -the sanities:\\ -the houses in pedantic rows, the planted\\ -sanitary trees, assert\\ -levelness of surface like a rebuke\\ -to the dent in our car door.\\ -No shouting here, or\\ -shatter of glass; nothing more abrupt\\ -than the rational whine of a power mower\\ -cutting a straight swath in the discouraged grass. - -But though the driveways neatly\\ -sidestep hysteria\\ -by being even, the roofs all display\\ -the same slant of avoidance to the hot sky,\\ -certain things:\\ -the smell of spilt oil a faint\\ -sickness lingering in the garages,\\ -a splash of paint on brick surprising as a bruise,\\ -a plastic hose poised in a vicious\\ -coil; even the too-fixed stare of the wide windows - -give momentary access to\\ -the landscape behind or under\\ -the future cracks in the plaster\\ -when the houses, capsized, will slide\\ -obliquely into the clay seas, gradual as glaciers\\ -that right now nobody notices. - -That is where the City Planners\\ -with the insane faces of political conspirators\\ -are scattered over unsurveyed\\ -territories, concealed from each other,\\ -each in his own private blizzard; - -guessing directions, they sketch\\ -transitory lines rigid as wooden borders\\ -on a wall in the white vanishing air - -tracing the panic of suburb\\ -order in a bland madness of snows. - -\section{The Planners} - -They plan. They build. All spaces are gridded,\\ -filled with permutations of possibilities.\\ -The buildings are in alignment with the roads\\ -which meet at desired points\\ -linked by bridges all hang\\ -in the grace of mathematics.\\ -They build and will not stop.\\ -Even the sea draws back\\ -and the skies surrender. - -They erase the flaws,\\ -the blemishes of the past, knock off\\ -useless blocks with dental dexterity.\\ -All gaps are plugged\\ -with gleaming gold.\\ -The country wears perfect rows\\ -of shining teeth.\\ -Anaesthesia, amnesia, hypnosis.\\ -They have the means.\\ -They have it all so it will not hurt,\\ -so history is new again.\\ -The piling will not stop.\\ -The drilling goes right through\\ -the fossils of last century. - -But my heart would not bleed\\ -poetry. Not a single drop\\ -to stain the blueprint\\ -of our past's tomorrow. - -\section{The Man With Night Sweats} - -I wake up cold, I who\\ -Prospered through dreams of heat\\ -Wake to their residue,\\ -Sweat, and a clinging sheet. - -My flesh was its own shield:\\ -Where it was gashed, it healed. - -I grew as I explored\\ -The body I could trust\\ -Even while I adored\\ -The risk that made robust, - -A world of wonders in\\ -Each challenge to the skin. - -I cannot but be sorry\\ -The given shield was cracked\\ -My mind reduced to hurry,\\ -My flesh reduced and wrecked. - -I have to change the bed,\\ -But catch myself instead - -Stopped upright where I am\\ -Hugging my body to me\\ -As if to shield it from\\ -The pains that will go through me, - -As if hands were enough\\ -To hold an avalanche off. - -\section{Night Sweat} - -Work-table, litter, books and standing lamp,\\ -plain things, my stalled equipment, the old broom --\\ -but I am living in a tidied room,\\ -for ten nights now I've felt the creeping damp\\ -float over my pajamas' wilted white\ldots{}\\ -Sweet salt embalms me and my head is wet,\\ -everything streams and tells me this is right;\\ -my life's fever is soaking in night sweat --\\ -one life, one writing! But the downward glide\\ -and bias of existing wrings us dry --\\ -always inside me is the child who died,\\ -always inside me is his will to die --\\ -one universe, one body\ldots{} in this urn\\ -the animal night sweats of the spirit burn.\\ -Behind me! You! Again I feel the light\\ -lighten my leaded eyelids, while the gray\\ -skulled horses whinny for the soot of night.\\ -I dabble in the dapple of the day,\\ -a heap of wet clothes, seamy, shivering,\\ -I see my flesh and bedding washed with light,\\ -my child exploding into dynamite,\\ -my wife\ldots{} your lightness alters everything,\\ -and tears the black web from the spider's sack,\\ -as your heart hops and flutters like a hare.\\ -Poor turtle, tortoise, if I cannot clear\\ -the surface of these troubled waters here,\\ -absolve me, help me, Dear Heart, as you bear\\ -this world's dead weight and cycle on your back. - -\section{From Long Distance} - -Though my mother was already two years dead\\ -Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas,\\ -put hot water bottles her side of the bed\\ -and still went to renew her transport pass. - -You couldn't just drop in. You had to phone.\\ -He'd put you off an hour to give him time\\ -to clear away her things and look alone\\ -as though his still raw love were such a crime. - -He couldn't risk my blight of disbelief\\ -though sure that very soon he'd hear her key\\ -scrape in the rusted lock and end his grief.\\ -He \emph{knew} she'd just popped out to get the tea. - -I believe life ends with death, and that is all.\\ -You haven't both gone shopping; just the same,\\ -in my new black leather phone book there's your name\\ -and the disconnected number I still call. - -\section{Funeral Blues} - -Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,\\ -Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,\\ -Silence the pianos and with muffled drum\\ -Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. - -Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead\\ -Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,\\ -Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,\\ -Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. - -He was my North, my South, my East and West,\\ -My working week and my Sunday rest.\\ -My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;\\ -I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. - -The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;\\ -Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;\\ -Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;\\ -For nothing now can ever come to any good. - -\section{He Never Expected Much} - -Well, World, you have kept faith with me,\\ -\qquad Kept faith with me;\\ -Upon the whole you have proved to be\\ -\qquad Much as you said you were.\\ -Since as a child I used to lie\\ -Upon the leaze and watch the sky,\\ -Never, I own, expected I\\ -\qquad That life would all be fair. - -'Twas then you said, and since have said,\\ -\qquad Times since have said,\\ -In that mysterious voice you shed\\ -\qquad From clouds and hills around:\\ -`Many have loved me desperately,\\ -Many with smooth serenity.\\ -While some have shown contempt of me\\ -\qquad Till they dropped underground. - -`I do not promise overmuch,\\ -\qquad Child; overmuch;\\ -Just neutral-tinted haps and such,'\\ -\qquad You said to minds like mine.\\ -Wise warning for your credit's sake!\\ -Which I for one failed not to take,\\ -And hence could stem such strain and ache\\ -\qquad As each year might assign. - -\section{The Telephone Call} - -They asked me `Are you sitting down?\\ -Right? This is Universal Lotteries',\\ -they said. `You've won the top prize,\\ -the Ultra-super Global Special.\\ -What would you do with a million pounds?\\ -Or, actually, with more than a million --\\ -not that it makes a lot of difference\\ -once you're a millionaire.' And they laughed. - -`Are you OK?' they asked -- `Still there?\\ -Come on, now, tell us, how does it feel?'\\ -I said `I just\ldots{} I can't believe it!'\\ -They said `That's what they all say.\\ -What else? Go on, tell us about it.'\\ -I said `I feel the top of my head\\ -has floated off, out through the window,\\ -revolving like a flying saucer.' - -`That's unusual' they said. `Go on.'\\ -I said `I'm finding it hard to talk.\\ -My throat's gone dry, my nose is tingling.\\ -I think I'm going to sneeze -- or cry.'\\ -`That's right' they said, `don't be ashamed\\ -of giving way to your emotions.\\ -It isn't every day you hear\\ -you're going to get a million pounds. - -Relax, now, have a little cry;\\ -we'll give you a moment\ldots' `Hang on!' I said.\\ -`I haven't bought a lottery ticket\\ -for years and years. And what did you say\\ -the company's called?' They laughed again.\\ -`Not to worry about a ticket.\\ -We're Universal. We operate\\ -A retrospective Chances Module. - -Nearly everyone's bought a ticket\\ -in some lottery or another,\\ -once at least. We buy up the files,\\ -feed the names into our computer,\\ -and see who the lucky person is.'\\ -`Well, that's incredible' I said.\\ -`It's marvellous. I still can't quite\ldots{}\\ -I'll believe it when I see the cheque.' - -`Oh,' they said, `there's no cheque.'\\ -`But the money?' `We don't deal in money.\\ -Experiences are what we deal in.\\ -You've had a great experience, right?\\ -Exciting? Something you'll remember?\\ -That's your prize. So congratulations\\ -from all of us at Universal.\\ -Have a nice day!' And the line went dead. - -\section{A Consumer's Report} - -The name of the product I tested is \emph{Life},\\ -I have completed the form you sent me\\ -and understand that my answers are confidential. - -I had it as a gift,\\ -I didn't feel much while using it,\\ -in fact I think I'd have liked to be more excited.\\ -It seemed gentle on the hands\\ -but left an embarrassing deposit behind.\\ -It was not economical\\ -and I have used much more than I thought\\ -(I suppose I have about half left\\ -but it's difficult to tell) --\\ -although the instructions are fairly large\\ -there are so many of them\\ -I don't know which to follow, especially\\ -as they seem to contradict each other.\\ -I'm not sure such a thing\\ -should be put in the way of children --\\ -It's difficult to think of a purpose\\ -Also the price is much too high.\\ -Things are piling up so fast,\\ -after all, the world got by\\ -for a thousand million years\\ -without this, do we need it now?\\ -(Incidentally, please ask your man\\ -to stop calling me `the respondent',\\ -I don't like the sound of it.)\\ -There seems to be a lot of different labels,\\ -sizes and colours should be uniform,\\ -the shape is awkward, it's waterproof\\ -but not heat resistant, it doesn't keep\\ -yet it's very difficult to get rid of:\\ -whenever they make it cheaper they seem\\ -to put less in -- if you say you don't\\ -want it, then it's delivered anyway.\\ -I'd agree it's a popular product,\\ -it's got into the language; people\\ -even say they're on the side of it.\\ -Personally I think it's overdone,\\ -a small thing people are ready\\ -to behave badly about. I think\\ -we should take it for granted. If its\\ -experts are called philosophers or market\\ -researchers or historians, we shouldn't\\ -care. We are the consumers and the last\\ -law makers. So finally, I'd buy it.\\ -But the question of a `best buy'\\ -I'd like to leave until I get\\ -the competitive product you said you'd send. - -\section{Request to a Year} - -If the year is meditating a suitable gift,\\ -I should like it to be the attitude\\ -of my great-great-grandmother,\\ -legendary devotee of the arts, - -who, having had eight children\\ -and little opportunity for painting pictures,\\ -sat one day on a high rock\\ -beside a river in Switzerland - -and from a difficult distance viewed\\ -her second son, balanced on a small ice-floe,\\ -drift down the current towards a waterfall\\ -that struck rock-bottom eighty feet below, - -while her second daughter, impeded,\\ -no doubt, by the petticoats of the day,\\ -stretched out a last-hope alpenstock\\ -(which luckily later caught him on his way). - -Nothing, it was evident, could be done;\\ -and with the artist's isolating eye\\ -my great-great-grandmother hastily sketched the scene.\\ -The sketch survives to prove the story by. - -Year, if you have no Mother's day present planned;\\ -reach back and bring me the firmness of her hand. - -\section{On Finding a Small Fly Crushed in a Book} - -Some hand, that never meant to do thee hurt,\\ -Has crushed thee here between these pages pent;\\ -But thou has left thine own fair monument,\\ -Thy wings gleam out and tell me what thou wert:\\ -Oh! that the memories, which survive us here,\\ -Were half as lovely as these wings of thine!\\ -Pure relics of a blameless life, that shine\\ -Now thou art gone: Our doom is ever near:\\ -The peril is beside us day by day;\\ -The book will close upon us, it may be,\\ -Just as we lift ourselves to soar away\\ -Upon the summer-airs. But, unlike thee,\\ -The closing book may stop our vital breath,\\ -Yet leave no lustre on our page of death. - -\section{Ozymandias} - -I met a traveller from an antique land\\ -Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone\\ -Stand in the desert\ldots{} Near them, on the sand,\\ -Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,\\ -And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,\\ -Tell that its sculptor well those passions read\\ -Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,\\ -The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:\\ -And on the pedestal these words appear:\\ -`My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:\\ -Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'\\ -Nothing beside remains. Round the decay\\ -Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare\\ -The lone and level sands stretch far away. - -\section{Away, Melancholy} - -Away, melancholy,\\ -Away with it, let it go. - -Are not the trees green,\\ -The earth as green?\\ -Does not the wind blow,\\ -Fire leap and the rivers flow?\\ -Away melancholy. - -The ant is busy\\ -He carrieth his meat,\\ -All things hurry\\ -To be eaten or eat.\\ -Away, melancholy. - -Man, too, hurries.\\ -Eats, couples, buries,\\ -He is an animal also\\ -With a hey ho melancholy,\\ -Away with it, let it go. - -Man of all creatures\\ -Is superlative\\ -(Away melancholy)\\ -He of all creatures alone\\ -Raiseth a stone\\ -(Away melancholy)\\ -Into the stone, the god\\ -Pours what he knows of good\\ -Calling, good, God.\\ -Away melancholy, let it go. - -Speak not to me of tears,\\ -Tyranny, pox, wars,\\ -Saying, Can God\\ -Stone of man's thought, be good? - -Say rather it is enough\\ -That the stuffed\\ -Stone of man's good, growing\\ -By man's called God.\\ -Away, melancholy, let it go. - -Man aspires\\ -To good,\\ -To love,\\ -Sighs; - -Beaten, corrupted, dying\\ -In his own blood lying\\ -Yet heaves up an eye above\\ -Cries, Love, love.\\ -It is his virtue needs explaining,\\ -Not his failing. - -Away, melancholy,\\ -Away with it, let it go. - -\end{document} |