PIERRE REVERDYoblivion. You, this morning, totally alone in order, calm, and universal revolu-
tion. You, diamond nail. You, purity, dazzling swivel of the ebb and flow of my
thought in the lines of the world.
—mary ann caws
Heavier
They waited for the man stretched out across the road to wake up. The curve of
the night stopped at the thatched cottage which was still lit up, at the edge of the
meadow, in front of the forest which was closing its gates. All the freshness inside.
The animals were there only to enliven the landscape while all the rest walked.
For everything was walking, except the animals, the landscape and me, who
with that statue, more immobile than the other one, was up there, on the pedes-
tal of clouds.
—john ashbery
That
The few stripes that foreshorten the wall are indications for the police. The
trees are heads, or the heads trees, in any case the heads of the trees threaten me.
They run the whole length of the wall and I’m afraid of arriving at the place
where the grating is opened. On the highway my shadow follows me, oblique,
and tells me I’m running too fast. It’s I who look like a thief. Finally, near the little
wood from which the villa emerges, I’m going to yell, I do yell, but calm footsteps
reassure me. And someone comes to let me in. Through the doorway I notice
friends who are laughing.
Perhaps about me?
—john ashbery
... Is Ajar
From the triangle of the sidewalks of the square all the wires start, and the
scythe of the rainbow, broken behind the clouds.
In the center the one who waits, blushes, not knowing where to stand.
Everyone is looking and in that same place the wall reveals its wound.
The hand that closes the shutter disappears, the head cut by the ray doesn’t
fall—and there remains that illusion which at the same moment drew everyone’s
eyes toward the drama that was being enacted, opposite the sunset, against the
window.
—john ashbery