Old Eddie’s face, wrinkled with r… Looked like a Mississippi man’s.… Derisive and avuncular at once, Swivelling, fixed me. They’d see… Too many wakes, too many cathouse…
Those villages stricken with the m… in all of whose ocher streets one… those volcanoes like ashen roses,… of poverty, around whose puckered… selling yellow sulphur stone
though our longest sun sets at rig… makes but winter arches, it cannot be long before we lie do… have our light in ashes. . . Browne, Urn Burial
Night, the black summer, simplifie… into a village; she assumes the im… musk of the negro, grows secret as… her alleys odorous with shucked oy… coals of gold oranges, braziers of…
Schizophrenic, wrenched by two sty… one a hack’s hired prose, I earn me exile. I trudge this sickle, mo… tan, burn to slough off
[for Alix Walcott] Between the vision of the Tourist… Paradise lies the desert where Is… force a rose from the sand. The th… cores the dawn clouds with concent…
Where are your monuments, your bat… Where is your tribal memory? Sirs… in that gray vault. The sea. The… has locked them up. The sea is Hi… First, there was the heaving oil,
The growing idleness of summer gra… With its frail kites of furious bu… Requests the lemonade of simple pr… In scansion gentler than my hammoc… And rituals no more upsetting than…
The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirr… and each will smile at the other’s…
When sunset, a brass gong, vibrate through Couva, is then I see my soul, swiftly uns… like a white cattle bird growing m… over the ocean of the evening cane…
The fist clenched round my heart loosens a little, and I gasp brightness; but it tightens again. When have I ever not loved the pain of love? But this has mov…
Better a jungle in the head than rootless concrete. Better to stand bewildered by the fireflies’ crooked street; winter lamps do not show
I came up out of the subway and th… people standing on the steps as if… something I didn’t. This was in t… and nuclear fallout. I looked and… was empty, I mean utterly, and I…
A wind is ruffling the tawny pelt Of Africa, Kikuyu, quick as flies… Batten upon the bloodstreams of th… Corpses are scattered through a pa… Only the worm, colonel of carrion,…
You can’t put in the ground swell… from the Christiansted, St.Croix,… behind the paratrooper’s voice: ‘T… after Vietnam. I made thirty jump… Bells punish the dead street and p…