(1979)
#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Women
Across the floor flits the mechani… fit for a king of several centurie… A little circus horse with real wh… His eyes are glossy black. He bears a little dancer on his ba…
A new volcano has erupted, the papers say, and last week I wa… where some ship saw an island bein… at first a breath of steam, ten mi… and then a black fleck—basalt, pro…
Wasted, wasted minutes that couldn… minutes of a barbaric condescensio… —Stare out the bathroom window at… at their dark needles, accretions… woodenly crystallized, and where t…
Here, above, cracks in the buildings are filled… The whole shadow of Man is only a… It lies at his feet like a circle… and he makes an inverted pin, the…
I am in need of music that would f… Over my fretful, feeling fingertip… Over my bitter—tainted, trembling… With melody, deep, clear, and liqu… Oh, for the healing swaying, old a…
Still dark. The unknown bird sits on his usual… The little dog next door barks in… inquiringly, just once. Perhaps in his sleep, too, the bir…
In your next letter I wish you’d… where you are going and what you a… how are the plays and after the pl… what other pleasures you’re pursui… taking cabs in the middle of the n…
I live only here, between your eye… But I live in your world. What do… —Collect no interest—otherwise wha… Above all I am not that staring m…
Out on the high “bird islands,” C… the razorbill auks and the silly—l… with their backs to the mainland in solemn, uneven lines along the… while the few sheep pastured there…
A washing hangs upon the line, but it’s not mine. None of the things that I can see belong to me. The neighbors got a radio with an…
About the size of an old—style dol… American or Canadian, mostly the same whites, gray green… —this little painting (a sketch fo… has never earned any money in its…
Minnow, go to sleep and dream, Close your great big eyes; Round your bed Events prepare The pleasantest surprise. Darling Minnow, drop that frown,
Moving from left to left, the ligh… is heavy on the Dome, and coarse. One small lunette turns it aside and blankly stares off to the side like a big white old wall—eyed hor…
Beneath that loved and celebrated… silent, bored really blindly veine… grieves, maybe lives and lets live, passes bets, something moving but invisibly,
Oh, but it is dirty! —this little filling station, oil—soaked, oil—permeated to a disturbing, over—all black translucency.