Elizabeth Bishop, from The Selected Poems of Elizabeth Bishop; "The Burglar of Babylon,"
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Elizabeth Bishop, “Breakfast Song”
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One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
— Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
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Elizabeth Bishop and her cat, Minnow. Source.
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One Art, Elizabeth Bishop
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Reaching for the Moon (2013) dir. Bruno Barreto
The Shampoo by Elizabeth Bishop
The still explosions on the rocks,
the lichens, grow
by spreading, gray, concentric shocks.
They have arranged
to meet the rings around the moon, although
within our memories they have not changed.
And since the heavens will attend
as long on us,
you've been, dear friend,
precipitate and pragmatical;
and look what happens. For Time is
nothing if not amenable.
The shooting stars in your black hair
in bright formation
are flocking where,
so straight, so soon?
--Come, let me wash it in this big tin basin,
battered and shiny like the moon.
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The Shampoo
The still explosions on the rocks,
the lichens, grow
by spreading, gray, concentric shocks.
They have arranged
to meet the rings around the moon, although
within our memories they have not changed.
And since the heavens will attend
as long on us,
you’ve been, dear friend,
precipitate and pragmatical;
and look what happens. For Time is
nothing if not amenable.
The shooting stars in your black hair
in bright formation
are flocking where,
so straight, so soon?
– Come, let me wash it in this big tin basin,
battered and shiny like the moon.
Elizabeth Bishop
1955
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insp.
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Elizabeth Bishop, North & South — A Cold Spring; from ‘Argument’
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Il tumulto del cuore
insiste a far domande.
Poi smette e si accinge a rispondere
nello stesso tono di voce.
Nessuno noterà la differenza…
E poi non c’è più scelta
e poi non c’è più senso
finché un nome
e tutto quel che implica coincidono.
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Elizabeth Bishop, from The Selected Poems of Elizabeth Bishop; "Sandpiper,"
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when elizabeth bishop said “when you write my epitaph, you must say I was the loneliest person who ever lived”
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Rain Towards Morning
by Elizabeth Bishop
The great light cage has broken up in the air,
freeing, I think, about a million birds
whose wild ascending shadows will not be back,
and all the wires come falling down.
No cage, no frightening birds; the rain
is brightening now. The face is pale
that tried the puzzle of their prison
and solved it with an unexpected kiss,
whose freckled unsuspected hands alit.
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This was supposed to be a French poetry poll. I'll make one, I promise, but I was distracted by the ladies (I think I'll make at least a Amy Lowell's poll and a Renee Vivien one too later, also under my 'sapphic poetry' tag)
They may not be the ones you would have picked yourself, they're some personal favorites.
Feel free to share yours, though !
Anne Hathaway
XVI (Twenty-one love poems)
Fireworks
One Art
Lighthouse Keeping
The Love of Judas
Wild Geese
For the Goddess Too Well Known
Blest as the Immortal Gods
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Elizabeth Bishop, "Casabianca," after the poem of the same name by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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