by phillipw | Jan 19, 2020 | RI, VE
On a Leash Rimbaud remarked, “Dogs are liberals,” to Gastineau, the Mautés’ loving dog. A “doll-faced” time bomb ticked away with blue, Blue eyes, light blue and deep, until the fog Of future London filled that Paris home. He was an Ostrogothic army in...
by phillipw | Jan 19, 2020 | DE, EX, SL
The Refugee Camp, the Deepest Coastline, the Mortuary The mother of the little ones who died Must fall to drowsiness like all the rest Of us. Her bleeding sorrow has not dried Out yet, but sleepiness will have its jest With agony, no matter what. Our eyes Close,...
by phillipw | Jan 19, 2020 | ID, SE
That Sumptuous Look A smile like God’s perfume implied that…what? That in behind it was vanilla love, Or fragrance like a diamond so cut That only what is perfect from above Could be its meaning. It refracted all The colors of the one ideal and smelled...
by phillipw | Jan 17, 2020 | AR, RI
Arthur Rimbaud – Encyclopedie Larousse ….. Divide his face in half. The side seen on The viewer’s left is broader, narrow-eyed And fuller lipped, the eyebrow wider drawn By God—or whoever. Jekyll and Hyde Are called to mind since this side with crimped,...
by phillipw | Jan 16, 2020 | FE, LE
A Wintry Gift According to Leigh Fermor, Keats was found In rooms filled up with antlers in a schloss Which Patrick visited. A Horace bound In gilding and in green he took across The continent—a sixteen hundreds book. It was a baron’s volume handed to...
by phillipw | Jan 16, 2020 | MA
Masculinity as Mental Illness He has this hair that sweeps across his head In ways that every waterfall would want. The thickness and the strengths are currents spread Across his scalp, a gushing fountain’s flaunt Of blondness mixed with undercurrents. These Are...
by phillipw | Jan 15, 2020 | RI, VE
The Time That’s Stretched The time that’s stretched between Verlaine and us Has painted in a scumble on his scenes With Arthur. It’s as if some sort of pus Has been brushed over them like filthy jeans Encrusted with the grime of tears. A scrim Obscures our view...
by phillipw | Jan 15, 2020 | RI, VE
Synesthesia Verlaine spun out his poetry like silk From spider abdomens, but it had hues Of melody, it sounds the touch of milk, And all came also from the fragrant blues Of Rimbaud’s irises and, more, from deep Within the boy’s manly soul which sang In...
