Deserters call and wave their sacks
at the carriage bound for Petersburg.
when I was a child
I wanted with all my heart to be the one
Still, we wait for sounds of plumage
in this world even angels shun.
I wonder what Adam and Eve
think of it by this time,
this firegilt steel
alive with goldenness…
Beat generation poet Gregory Corso reads his classic poem “Marriage” from his book, The Happy Birthday of Death, first published in 1960.
he taught me how to make a military tuck
of the sheets and blankets; the way a quarter should bounce,
and when it did, the way he’d smile and clap my back. I lived for that.
we wriggled and followed
the path upstream,
coigned in its armbends, whinsill, lime,
humped heather, deer grass
In Herzog’s great visual opera
The hero stands on a cliff
Above a valley where a river
Of molten glass carries
Light to the sea
John Keats’ “Ode to a Nightingale” — a lecture by Oxford Professor Belinda Jack