The Vulture
dragging
his hinger through the sky
of my skull shell of sky and earthstrooping to the prone who must soon take up their life and walk
mocked by a tissue that may not serve till hunger earth and sky be offal
Alba
before
morning you shall be here
and
Dante and the Logos and all strata and mysteries
and the
branded moon
beyond
the white plane of music
that you
shall establish here before morning
grave
suave singing silk
stoop to
the black firmament of areca
rain on
the bamboos flowers of smoke alley of willows
who
though you stoop with fingers of compassion
to
endorse the dust
shall
not add to your bounty
whose
beauty shall be a sheet before me
a
statement of itself drawn across the tempest of emblems
so that
there is no sun and no unveiling
and no
host
only I
and then the sheet
and bulk
dead
Dortmunder
Int the magic the Homer dusk
past the
red spire of sanctuary
I null
she royal hulk
hasten
to the violet lamp to the thin K'in music of the bawd.
She
stands before me in the bright stall
sustaining
the jade splinters
the
scarred signaculum of purity quiet
the eyes
the eyes black till the plagal east
shall
resolve the long night phrase.
Then, as
a scroll, folded,
and the
glory of her dissolution enlarged
in me,
Habbakuk, mard of all sinners.
Schopenhauer
is dead, the bawd
puts her
lute away.
Malacoda
thrice
he cam
the
undertaker's man
impassable
behind his scrutal bowler
to
measure
is he
not paid to measure
this
incorruptible in the vestibule
this
malebranca knee deep in the lilies
Malacoda
knee-deep in the lilies
Malacoda
for all the expert awe
that
felts his perineum mutes his signal
sighing
up through the heavy air
must it
be it must be it must be
find the
weeds engage them in the garden
hear she
may see she need not
to
coffin
with
assistant ungulata
find the
weeds engage their attention
hear she
must see she need not
to cover
to be
sure cover cover all over
your
targe allow me hold your sulphur
divine
dogday glass set fair
stay
Scarmilion stay stay
lay this
Huysum on the box
mind the
imago it is he
hear she
must see she must
all
aboard all souls
half-mast
aye aye
nay
Echo's
Bones
Asylum
under my tread all this day
their
muffled revels as the flesh falls
breaking
without fear or favor wind
the
gantelope of sense and nonsense run
taken by
the maggots for what they are
Mort de
A.D.
and
there to be there still there
pressed
against my old plank scabbed with black
days and
nights blindly ground
to being
there and to not fleeing and fleeing and being there
bent
toward the avowal of time dying
of
having been what was does what it did
to me to
my friend dead yesterday gleaming eye
long
teeth panting in his beard devouring
the life
of saints a life by day of life
reliving
in the night its black sins
dead
yesterday while I lived
and to
be there drinking above the storm
the guilt
of time irremissible
gripping
the old wood witness to departures
witness
to returns
a elle l'acte
calme
to her
the calm act
the
savant pores the sex easygoing
waiting
not too slow regretting not too long the absence
in the
service of presence
a few
tatters of azure in the head the points finally dead of the heart
all the
tardy grace of a rain ceasing
at the
fall of a night
of
August
to her
empty
him pure
of love
bon bon il est un pays
all
right all right there's a land
where
forgetting where forgetting weighs
gently
upon worlds unnamed
there
the head we shush it the head is mute
and one
knows no but one knows nothing
the song
of dead mouths dies
on the
shore it has made its voyage
there is
nothing to mourn
my
loneliness I know it oh well I know it badly
I have
the time is what I tell myself I have time
but what
time famished bone the time of the dog
of a sky
incessantly paling my grain of sky
of the
climbing ray ocellate trembling
of
microns of years of darkness
you want
me to go from A to B I cannot
I cannot
come out I'm in a traceless land
yes yes
it's a fine thing you've got there a mighty fine thing
what is
that ask me no more questions
spiral dust of instants what is this the same
the calm the love the hate the calm the calm
Ascension
through
the slim partition
this day
when a child
prodigal
in his own way
returned
into the family
I hear a
voice
it is
excited it comments
on the
football world cup
forever
too young
meanwhile
through the open window
over the
air in a word
heavily
a sea
swell of the faithful
her
blood spurted in abundance
on the
sheets on the sweet peas on her bloke
he
closed the eyelids with filthy fingers
on the
green eyes big with surprise
she
lightly roams
over my
tomb of air
La
Mouche
between
the scene and me
the
glass
empty
except for it
belly
down
tied
tight in its black guts
panicked
antennas linked wings
hooked
legs mouth emptily sucking
slicing
the azure crashing against the invisible
under my
powerless thumb it capsizes
the sea
and the serene sky
Cascando
1
why not
merely the despaired of
occasion
of
wordshed
is it not
better abort than be barren
the
hours after you are gone are so leaden
they
will always start dragging too soon
the
grapples clawing blindly the bed of want
bringing
up the bones the old loves
sockets
filled once with eyes like yours
all
always is it better too soon than never
the
black want splashing their faces
saying
again nine days never floated the loved
nor nine
months
nor nine
lives
2
saying
again
if you
do not teach me I shall not learn
saying
again there is a last
even of
last times
last times
of begging
last
times of loving
of
knowing not knowing pretending
a last
even of last times of saying
if you
do not love me I shall not be loved
if I do
not love you I shall not love
the
churn of stale words in the heart again
love
love love thud of the old plunger
pestling
the unalterable
whey of
words
terrified
again
of not
loving
of
loving and not you
of being
loved and not by you
of
knowing not knowing pretending
pretending
I and
all the others that will love you
if they
love you
3
unless they
love you
Four
Poems
1.
Dieppe
again
the last ebb
the dead
shingle
the
turning then the steps
toward
the lighted town
2.
my way
is in the sand flowing
between
the shingle and the dune
the
summer rain rains on my life
on me my
life harrying fleeing
to its
beginning to its end
my peace
is there in the receding mist
when I
may cease from treading these long shifting thresholds
and live
the space of a door
that
opens and shuts
3.
what
would I do without this world faceless incurious
where to
be lasts but an instant where every instant
spills
in the void the ignorance of having been
without
this wave where in the end
body and
shadow together are engulfed
what
would I do without this silence where the murmurs die
the
pantings the frenzies towards succour towards love
without
this sky that soars
above
its ballast dust
what
would I do what I did yesterday and the day before
peering
out of my deadlight looking for another
wandering
like me eddying far from all the living
in a
convulsive space
among
the voices voiceless
that
throng my hiddenness
4.
I would
like my love to die
and the
rain to be falling on the graveyard
and on
me walking the streets
mourning
the first and last to love me
What is
the word
folly –
folly
for to –
for to –
what is
the word –
folly
from this –
all this
–
folly
from all this –
given –
folly given
all this –
seeing –
folly
seeing all this –
this –
what is
the word –
this
this –
this
this here –
all this
this here –
folly
given all this –
seeing –
folly
seeing all this this here –
for to –
what is
the word –
see –
glimpse
–
seem to
glimpse –
need to
seem to glimpse –
folly
for to need to seem to glimpse –
what –
what is
the word –
and
where –
folly
for to need to seem to glimpse what where –
where –
what is
the word –
there –
over
there –
away
over there –
afar –
afar
away over there –
afaint –
afaint
afar away over there what –
what –
what is
the word –
seeing
all this –
all this
this –
all this
this here –
folly
for to see what –
glimpse
–
seem to
glimpse –
need to
seem to glimpse –
afaint
afar away over there what –
folly
for to need to seem to glimpse afaint afar away over there what –
what –
what is
the word –
what is
the word
Reviews of
The Collected Poems of Samuel Beckett, published
by Grove Press, 2014.
The
letters and poems of Samuel Beckett. By Paul Muldoon. The New York Times ,
December 12, 2014.
Dread
States: Samuel Beckett’s Poems. By Douglas
Messerli Hyperallergic , March 1, 2015.
Body
Unlimited: The Incredible Poetry of Samuel Beckett. By Jonathon Sturgeon. Flavor Wire | November 5,
2014
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