By John Ashbery
Thrill of a Romance
It's various when you've got hiccups.
every little thing is—so many comfortable arms competing
on your cognizance, a headband, a pant of soot,
or simply a blast of silence from a radio.
what's it? That's that you can study
for your dismay whilst, on the finish of a protracted queue
within the cafeteria, tray in hand, they inform you the gate closed down
after the second one global warfare. Syracuse was once declared capital
of a state in malaise, however the directorate
had different, hidden pursuits. To proclaim common sense
a casualty of fact was once one.
Everyone's solitude (and ensuing promiscuity)
perfumed the byways of villages we had proposal civilized.
I observed you anticipating a streetcar and pressed ahead.
lamentably, you have been just a baby in armor. Now while ribald toasts
sail around a desk too reasonable laid out, why the results
are just airborne dirt and dust, sickness and outdated age. friendly thoughts
are only that. So I channel no matter what
into my contingency, a vein of mercury
that retains breaking out, greater up, extra on time
at any time when. Dirndls noticed with out of date flora,
worn within the urban back, advertise open discussion.
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Additional info for A Worldly Country: New Poems
Everything is—so many glad hands competing for your attention, a scarf, a puff of soot, or just a blast of silence from a radio. What is it? That’s for you to learn to your dismay when, at the end of a long queue in the cafeteria, tray in hand, they tell you the gate closed down after the Second World War. Syracuse was declared capital of a nation in malaise, but the directorate had other, hidden goals. To proclaim logic a casualty of truth was one. Everyone’s solitude (and resulting promiscuity) perfumed the byways of villages we had thought civilized.
Yes, the girls were here, it seems to say, but all have gone down to look at the bridge. You were careful about choosing your companions, did what was expected of you, rose early to greet the punching ball, shook droplets off the toothbrush, and like so. Does it ever occur to you in what millennia we are standing? Yes, the good stuff was poised to return, but the screen crashed, and there is no help in us, over and under the now receding water. I’d like to buy a deﬁnite article, but it’s not that easy.
Of what? Let me then ask you, as tide picks up tab, river that between us grew, mere commentary on agile literary thoughts’ dustbin commonplaces. Yet here and there a jewel gleamed, night’s dark fantasy, over before it began. Hail to something! Let bliss be unbuttoned in corners of the rash act’s explanation of it. 36 And dyed two, one new, none knew an honest periphery as other than rind of rhyme. The perfect attention snowed in sleep and no one asked their opinion of the remaining gents, off on a new tangent.
A Worldly Country: New Poems by John Ashbery