Selected Poems 1930-1988 Read Online Free PDF

…
    Next:
    on the hill down from the Fox and Geese into Chapelizod
    a small malevolent goat, exiled on the road,
    remotely pucking the gate of his field;
    the Isolde Stores a great perturbation of sweaty heroes,
    in their Sunday best,
    come hastening down for a pint of nepenthe or moly or half and half
    from watching the hurlers above in Kilmainham.
    Blotches of doomed yellow in the pit of the Liffey;
    the fingers of the ladders hooked over the parapet,
    soliciting;
    a slush of vigilant gulls in the grey spew of the sewer.
    Ah the banner
    the banner of meat bleeding
    on the silk of the seas and the arctic flowers
    that do not exist.

Enueg II
    world world world world
    and the face grave
    cloud against the evening
    de morituris nihil nisi
    and the face crumbling shyly
    too late to darken the sky
    blushing away into the evening
    shuddering away like a gaffe
    veronica mundi
    veronica munda
    gives us a wipe for the love of Jesus
    sweating like Judas
    tired of dying
    tired of policemen
    feet in marmalade
    perspiring profusely
    heart in marmalade
    smoke more fruit
    the old heart the old heart
    breaking outside congress
    doch I assure thee
    lying on O’Connell Bridge
    goggling at the tulips of the evening
    the green tulips
    shining round the corner like an anthrax
    shining on Guinness’s barges
    the overtone the face
    too late to brighten the sky
    doch doch I assure thee

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
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  grave suave singing silk
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  stoop to the black firmament of areca
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  rain on the bamboos flower 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
    In 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.

Sanies I
    all the livelong way this day of sweet showers from Portrane on the seashore
    Donabate sad swans of Turvey Swords
    pounding along in three ratios like a sonata
    like a Ritter with pommelled scrotum atra cura on the step
    Botticelli from the fork down pestling the transmission
    tires bleeding voiding zeep the highway
    all heaven in the sphincter
    the sphincter
    müüüüüüüde now
    potwalloping now through the promenaders
    this trusty all-steel this super-real
    bound for home like a good boy
    where I was born with a pop with the green of the larches
    ah to be back in the caul now with no trusts
    no fingers no spoilt love
    belting along in the meantime clutching the bike
    the billows of the nubile the cere wrack
    pot-valiant caulless waisted in rags hatless
    for mamma papa chicken and ham
    warm Grave too say the word
    happy days snap the stem shed a tear
    this day Spy Wedsday seven pentades past
    oh the larches the pain drawn like a cork
    the glans he took the day off up hill and down dale
    with a ponderous fawn from the Liverpool London and Globe
    back the shadows lengthen the sycomores are sobbing
    to roly-poly oh to me a spanking boy
    buckets of fizz childbed is thirsty work
    for the midwife he is gory
    for the proud parent he washes down a gob of gladness
    for footsore Achates also he pants his pleasure
    sparkling beestings for me
    tired