Tom Raworth's As When: A Selection PDF

By Tom Raworth

ISBN-10: 178410034X

ISBN-13: 9781784100346

Poet Tom Raworth has remained steadfastly self sustaining of literary models, events, and cliques all through a poetic profession spanning 50 years. As When is the 1st choice of Raworth’s writing to deal with the total scope and variety of his paintings, from the 1st poem he ever shared with someone open air his relations, “You have been donning Blue,” to his so much lately released poem, “Surfing the Permafrost via Methane Flares.” the gathering comprises prose paintings and notational items that have been deliberately ignored of his Collected Poems, in addition to poems that have been in basic terms released in small magazines or as ephemeral playing cards and broadsides. a few items look in right, definitive models for the 1st time.

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Extra resources for As When: A Selection

Example text

I try to block them with cigarettes filling the wrinkles with ash, smoothing it over, applying make-up no, that was in ’38. i’m heading that way fast matches all gone i vainly rub the end on my bristles friction should do it, no, that was douglas fairbanks jnr. v. did you see him? i almost smoked my ear here, stepping off the pavement, damn fool, i bet he’d been smoking all those books under their arms. a rhythm of footsteps. sheets blowing with cigarette burns. and they don’t flush down the toilet first time well girls, shave those books from under your armpits she did, and there was a small hole from which she pulled a never ending cigarette, yellow, white, yellow, white so we went into the labyrinth and killed the minotaur, holding on but coming back, half-way, we found it burning and a gnome had eaten the ash.

A dutch island where horses pull to launch the lifeboat. we are specifically ordered that there shall be no fast cars. where can we go when we retire? it was their deduction we were afraid of so shall we try just once more? nothing is too drastic when it comes to your son, eleanor. and nothing works in this damn country. no, it’s not a bit like home. 9 YOU’VE RUINED MY EVENING/YOU’VE RUINED MY LIFE i would be eight people and then the difficulties vanish only as one i contain the complications in a warm house roofed with the rib-cage of an elephant i pass my grey mornings re-running the reels and the images are the same but the emphasis shifts the actors bow gently to me and i envy them their repeated parts, their constant presence in that world i would be eight people each inhabiting the others’ dreams walking through corridors of glass framed pages telling each other the final lines of letters picking fruit in one dream and storing it in another only as one i contain the complications and the images are the same, their constant presence in that world the actors bow gently to each other and envy my grey mornings i would be eight people with the rib-cage of an elephant picking fruit in a warm house above actors bowing re-running the reels of my presence in this world the difficulties vanish and the images are the same eight people, glass corridors, page lines repeated inhabiting grey mornings roofed with my complications only as one walking gently storing my dream 10 NOW THE PINK STRIPES now the pink stripes, the books, the clothes you wear in the eaves of houses i ask whose land it is an orange the size of a melon rolling slowly across the field where i sit at the centre in an upright coffin of five panes of glass there is no air the sun shines and under me you’ve planted a quick growing cactus COLLAPSIBLE behind the calm famous faces knowledge of what crimes?

We are specifically ordered that there shall be no fast cars. where can we go when we retire? it was their deduction we were afraid of so shall we try just once more? nothing is too drastic when it comes to your son, eleanor. and nothing works in this damn country. no, it’s not a bit like home. 9 YOU’VE RUINED MY EVENING/YOU’VE RUINED MY LIFE i would be eight people and then the difficulties vanish only as one i contain the complications in a warm house roofed with the rib-cage of an elephant i pass my grey mornings re-running the reels and the images are the same but the emphasis shifts the actors bow gently to me and i envy them their repeated parts, their constant presence in that world i would be eight people each inhabiting the others’ dreams walking through corridors of glass framed pages telling each other the final lines of letters picking fruit in one dream and storing it in another only as one i contain the complications and the images are the same, their constant presence in that world the actors bow gently to each other and envy my grey mornings i would be eight people with the rib-cage of an elephant picking fruit in a warm house above actors bowing re-running the reels of my presence in this world the difficulties vanish and the images are the same eight people, glass corridors, page lines repeated inhabiting grey mornings roofed with my complications only as one walking gently storing my dream 10 NOW THE PINK STRIPES now the pink stripes, the books, the clothes you wear in the eaves of houses i ask whose land it is an orange the size of a melon rolling slowly across the field where i sit at the centre in an upright coffin of five panes of glass there is no air the sun shines and under me you’ve planted a quick growing cactus COLLAPSIBLE behind the calm famous faces knowledge of what crimes?

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As When: A Selection by Tom Raworth


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