The Minister of culture goes home after a grueling day at the office. He lies on his bed and tries to think of nothing, but nothing hap-pens or, more precisely, does not happen. Nothing is elsewhere doing what nothing does, which is to expand the dark. But the minister is patient, and slowly things slip away—the walls of his house, the park across the street, his friends in the next town. He believes that nothing has finally come to him and, in its absent way, is saying, “Darling, you know how much I have always wanted to please you, and now I have come. And what is more, I have come to stay.”
The Minister of Culture Gets His Wish
T
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from the First Villancico by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz
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in the ice and cold,
Read Poem in the ice and cold,
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Faustine by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Ave Faustina Imperatrix, morituri te salutant. Lean back, and get some minutes' peace;
Let your head lean
Back to the shoulder with its fleece
Of locks, Faustine.
Read Poem Let your head lean
Back to the shoulder with its fleece
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To the Angel Spirit of the Most Excellent Sir Philip Sidney by Mary Sidney Herbert Countess of Pembroke
(Variant printed in Samuel Daniel’s 1623 Works) To thee, pure spirit, to thee alone addressed
Is this joint work, by double interest thine,
Thine by his own, and what is done of mine
Inspired by thee, thy secret power impressed.
Read Poem Is this joint work, by double interest thine,
Thine by his own, and what is done of mine
Inspired by thee, thy secret power impressed.
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The Tower by William Butler Yeats
I
What shall I do with this absurdity —
O heart, O troubled heart — this caricature,
Decrepit age that has been tied to me
As to a dog's tail?
Never had I more
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Read Poem What shall I do with this absurdity —
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Speech: “Is this a dagger which I see before me” by William Shakespeare
(from Macbeth, spoken by Macbeth)
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
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Read Poem The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
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Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
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O zummer clote! when the brook’s a-glidèn
So slow an’ smooth down his zedgy bed,
Upon thy broad leaves so seäfe a-ridèn
The water’s top wi’ thy yollow head,
By alder sheädes, O,
An’ bulrush beds, O,
Thou then dost float, goolden zummer clote!
The grey-bough’d withy’s a leänèn lowly
Above the water thy leaves do hide;
The bènden bulrush, a-swaÿèn slowly,
Do skirt in zummer thy river’s zide;
An’ perch in shoals, O,
Do vill the holes, O,
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Read Poem So slow an’ smooth down his zedgy bed,
Upon thy broad leaves so seäfe a-ridèn
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By alder sheädes, O,
An’ bulrush beds, O,
Thou then dost float, goolden zummer clote!
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Above the water thy leaves do hide;
The bènden bulrush, a-swaÿèn slowly,
Do skirt in zummer thy river’s zide;
An’ perch in shoals, O,
Do vill the holes, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!
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To Lysander by Aphra Behn
(On some Verses he writ, and asking more for his Heart than ‘twas worth.) I
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Read Poem Take back that Heart, you with such Caution give,
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from Don Juan: Canto 1, Stanzas 217-221 by Lord Byron (George Gordon)
217
Ambition was my idol, which was broken
Before the shrines of Sorrow and of Pleasure;
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O'er which reflection may be made at leisure:
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Is glittering youth, which I have spent betimes—
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Read Poem Ambition was my idol, which was broken
Before the shrines of Sorrow and of Pleasure;
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O'er which reflection may be made at leisure:
Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head, I've spoken,
'Time is, Time was, Time's past', a chymic treasure
Is glittering youth, which I have spent betimes—
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0
To an army wife, in Sardis... by Sappho
To an army wife, in Sardis:
Some say a cavalry corps,
some infantry, some, again,
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sight on dark earth; but I say
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This is easily proved: did
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sight on dark earth; but I say
that whatever one loves, is.
This is easily proved: did
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Our Willie by Henry Timrod
’T was merry Christmas when he came,
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And merrier sped the Christmas game,
Because within the house there lay
A shape as tiny as a fay—
The Christmas gift of God!
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0
My goldfinch, I'll toss back my head— by Osip Mandelstam
My goldfinch, I'll toss back my head—
let's look at the world, you and I:
a wintry day, prickly as stubble,
is it just as rough on your eye?
Tail like a boat, black and gold plumage,
dipped in paint from the beak down—
are you aware, my little goldfinch,
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Read Poem let's look at the world, you and I:
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is it just as rough on your eye?
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dipped in paint from the beak down—
are you aware, my little goldfinch,
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0
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And the weaver said, Speak to us of
Clothes.
And he answered:
Your clothes conceal much of your beauty,
yet they hide not the unbeautiful.
And though you seek in garments the
freedom of privacy you may find in them
a harness and a chain.
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And he answered:
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yet they hide not the unbeautiful.
And though you seek in garments the
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a harness and a chain.
0
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Titan! to whose immortal eyes
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A silent suffering, and intense;
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And then is jealous lest the sky
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Until its voice is echoless.
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All that the proud can feel of pain,
The agony they do not show,
The suffocating sense of woe,
Which speaks but in its loneliness,
And then is jealous lest the sky
Should have a listener, nor will sigh
Until its voice is echoless.
0
Epistle to Augusta by Lord Byron (George Gordon)
My sister! my sweet sister! if a name
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0
On Love by Kahlil Gibran
Then said Almitra, Speak to us of Love.
And he raised his head and looked upon
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When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to
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When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to
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0
Hello, Willie Shoemaker by Charles Bukowski
the Chinaman said don’t take the hardware
and gave me a steak I couldn’t cut (except the fat)
and there was an ant circling the coffee cup;
I left a dime tip and broke out a stick of cancer,
and outside I gave an old bum who looked about
the way I felt, I gave him a quarter,
and then I went up to see the old man
strong as steel girders, fit for bombers and blondes,
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and there was an ant circling the coffee cup;
I left a dime tip and broke out a stick of cancer,
and outside I gave an old bum who looked about
the way I felt, I gave him a quarter,
and then I went up to see the old man
strong as steel girders, fit for bombers and blondes,
0
America by Allen Ginsberg
America I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956.
I can’t stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don’t feel good don’t bother me.
I won’t write my poem till I’m in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
Read Poem America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956.
I can’t stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don’t feel good don’t bother me.
I won’t write my poem till I’m in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
0
Ars Poetica? by Czeslaw Milosz
I have always aspired to a more spacious form
that would be free from the claims of poetry or prose
and would let us understand each other without exposing
the author or reader to sublime agonies.
In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent:
a thing is brought forth which we didn’t know we had in us,
so we blink our eyes, as if a tiger had sprung out
and stood in the light, lashing his tail.
Read Poem that would be free from the claims of poetry or prose
and would let us understand each other without exposing
the author or reader to sublime agonies.
In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent:
a thing is brought forth which we didn’t know we had in us,
so we blink our eyes, as if a tiger had sprung out
and stood in the light, lashing his tail.
0
from Don Juan: Canto 1, Stanzas 41-42 by Lord Byron (George Gordon)
41
His classic studies made a little puzzle,
Because of filthy loves of gods and goddesses,
Who in the earlier ages raised a bustle,
But never put on pantaloons or bodices;
His reverend tutors had at times a tussle,
And for their Aeneids, Iliads, and Odysseys,
Were forced to make an odd sort of apology,
For Donna Inez dreaded the mythology.
42
Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him,
Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample,
Read Poem His classic studies made a little puzzle,
Because of filthy loves of gods and goddesses,
Who in the earlier ages raised a bustle,
But never put on pantaloons or bodices;
His reverend tutors had at times a tussle,
And for their Aeneids, Iliads, and Odysseys,
Were forced to make an odd sort of apology,
For Donna Inez dreaded the mythology.
42
Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him,
Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample,
0
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