Advocates of Poetry, a Reader of American Poet Critics, Modernist Era (c)

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University of Arkansas Press, 1994 - 63 стор.
After the Reunion is an intensely lyrical collection of love poems and elegies from "the most expansive and moving poet to come out of the American Midwest since James Wright," as Marilyn Hacker has described him. In these quiet, powerful, and eloquent poems, David Baker explores the kinship of love to loss, discovering that each is an inevitable component of the other. The final movement of the book is a unification of these two modes and becomes a celebration of continuities, kinships, and renewals.

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AN ONTOLOGICAL CRITIC
3
FREUDAND THE ANALYSIS OF POETRY
43
SOME NOTES ON POPULAR AND UNPOPULAR ART
73
TENSION IN POETRY
85
THE AUDIBLE READING OF POETRY
101
19121950
123
PURE AND IMPURE POETRY
143
THE LYRIC
171
REFLECTIONS ON POETRY AND THE ROLE OF THE POET
181
THE ISOLATION OF MODERN POETRY
193
POETS CRITICS AND READERS
205
HOW DOES A POEM MEAN?
223
BIBLIOGRAPHY
237
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Сторінка 25 - To his Coy Mistress Had we but world enough and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Huraber would complain.
Сторінка 114 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's •waste...
Сторінка 97 - Tis madness to resist or blame The force of angry Heaven's flame: And, if we would speak true, Much to the man is due, Who, from his private gardens, where He lived reserved and austere, As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot, Could by industrious valour climb To ruin the great work of time, And cast the kingdoms old Into another mould.
Сторінка 97 - And my poor fool is hang'd ! No, no, no life ! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all?
Сторінка 132 - Labour is blossoming or dancing where The body is not bruised to pleasure soul, Nor beauty born out of its own despair, Nor blear-eyed wisdom out of midnight oil. O chestnut tree, great rooted blossomer, Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
Сторінка 150 - ROSE AYLMER AH, WHAT avails the sceptred race! Ah ! what the form divine ! What every virtue, every grace ! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.
Сторінка 118 - No lingering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief." O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap May who ne'er hung there.
Сторінка 145 - Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white ; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk ; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font : The fire-fly wakens : waken thou with me. Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars, And all thy heart lies open unto me.
Сторінка 93 - Our two soules therefore, which are one, Though I must goe, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to ayery thinnesse beate.
Сторінка 96 - Beauty is but a flower, Which wrinkles will devour: Brightness falls from the air; Queens have died young and fair; Dust hath closed Helen's eye; I am sick, I must die.

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