#EnglishWriters
An absolute patience. Trees stand up to their knees in fog. The fog
The authentic! Shadows of it sweep past in dreams, one could sa… evoking the almost-silent ripping apart of giant sheets of cellophane. No.
All others talked as if talk were a dance. Clodhopper I, with clumsy feet would break the gliding ring. Early I learned to
That dog with daisies for eyes who flashes forth flame of his very self at every ba… is the Dog of Art. Worked in wool, his blind eyes
Something forgotten for twenty yea… and mothers came from Cordova and… and though I am a citizen of the… stranger here than anywhere else,… I am Essex-born:
The fire in leaf and grass so green it seems each summer the last summer. The wind blowing, the leaves shivering in the sun,
There’s in my mind a woman of innocence, unadorned but fair-featured and smelling of apples or grass. She wears a utopian smock or shift, her hair
Not the moon. A flower on the other side of the water. The water sweeps past in flood, dragging a whole tree by the hair, a barn, a bridge. The flower
O Eros, silently smiling one, hea… Let the shadow of thy wings brush me. Let thy presence enfold me, as if darkness
High, hollowed in green above the rocks of reason lies the crater lake whose ice the dreamer breaks to find a summer season.
A certain day became a presence to… there it was, confronting me—a sky… a being. And before it started to… from the height of noon, it leaned… and struck my shoulder as if with
"The World is not something to look at, it is something to be in.… Mark Rudman I look and look. Looking’s a way of being: one beco…
After I had cut off my hands and grown new ones something my former hands had long… came and asked to be rocked. After my plucked out eyes
Innocent decision: to enjoy. And the pathos of hopefulness, of his solicitude: —he in mended serape, she having plaited carefully
This is the year the old ones, the old great ones leave us alone on the road. The road leads to the sea. We have the words in our pockets,