Elizabeth Bishop 2012 7 PDF

Classic Poetry Series
Elizabeth Bishop
- 69 poems -
Publication Date:
2012
Publisher:
PoemHunter.Com-TheWorld'sPoetryArchive
Elizabeth Bishop (8 February 1911 6 October 1979)

ElizabethBishopwasanAmericanpoetandshort-storywriter.Shewasthe
PoetLaureateoftheUnitedStatesfrom1949to1950,aPulitzerPrizewinner
in1956andaNationalBookAwardWinnerforPoetryin1970.Elizabeth
BishopHouseisanartists'retreatinGreatVillage,NovaScotiadedicatedto
hermemory.Sheisconsideredoneofthemostimportantanddistinguished
Americanpoetsofthe20thcentury.
EarlyYears
ElizabethBishop,anonlychild,wasborninWorcester,Massachusetts.After
herfather,asuccessfulbuilder,diedwhenshewaseightmonthsold,
Bishopsmotherbecamementallyillandwasinstitutionalizedin1916.
(Bishopwroteaboutthetimeofhermother'sstrugglesinhershortstory"In
TheVillage.")Effectivelyorphanedduringherveryearlychildhood,shelived
withhergrandparentsonafarminGreatVillage,NovaScotia,aperiodshe
alsoreferencedinherwriting.Thiswasalsowhereshedevelopedintoa
first-classfisherwoman.Bishop'smotherremainedinanasylumuntilher
deathin1934,andthetwowereneverreunited.
Laterinchildhood,Bishop'spaternalfamilygainedcustody,andshewas
removedfromthecareofhergrandparentsandmovedinwithherfather's
wealthierfamilyinWorcester,Massachusetts.However,Bishopwasunhappy
inWorcester,andherseparationfromhergrandparentsmadeherlonely.
WhileshewaslivinginWorcester,shedevelopedchronicasthma,fromwhich
shesufferedfortherestofherlife.HertimeinWorcesterisbriefly
chronicledinherpoem"InTheWaitingRoom."
BishopboardedattheWalnutHillSchoolinNatick,Massachusetts,where
shestudiedmusic.Attheschoolherfirstpoemswerepublishedbyherfriend
FraniBloughinastudentmagazine.ThensheenteredVassarCollegeinthe
fallof1929,shortlybeforethestockmarketcrash,planningtobea
composer.Shegaveupmusicbecauseofaterrorofperformanceand
switchedtoEnglishwhereshetookcoursesincluding16thand17thcentury
literatureandthenovel.BishoppublishedherworkinhersenioryearinThe
Magazine(basedinCalifornia)and1933,sheco-foundedConSpirito,arebel
literarymagazineatVassar,withwriterMaryMcCarthy(oneyearher
senior),MargaretMiller,andthesistersEuniceandEleanorClark.Bishop
graduatedin1934.
Influences
BishopwasgreatlyinfluencedbythepoetMarianneMooretowhomshewas
introducedbyalibrarianatVassarin1934.Mooretookakeeninterestin
www.PoemHunter.com-TheWorld'sPoetryArchive
Bishopswork,andatonepointMooredissuadedBishopfromattending
CornellMedicalSchool,inwhichthepoethadbrieflyenrolledherselfafter
movingtoNewYorkCityfollowingherVassargraduation.Itwasfouryears
beforeBishopaddressed"DearMissMoore"as"DearMarianne,"andonly
thenattheelderpoetsinvitation.Thefriendshipbetweenthetwowomen,
memorializedbyanextensivecorrespondence(seeOneArt),endureduntil
Moore'sdeathin1972.Bishop's"AttheFishhouses"(1955)contains
allusionsonseverallevelstoMoore's1924poem"AGrave."
ShewasintroducedtoRobertLowellbyRandallJarrellin1947andthey
becamegreatfriends,mostlythroughtheirwrittencorrespondence,until
Lowell'sdeathin1977.Afterhisdeath,shewrote,"ourfriendship,[which
was]oftenkeptalivethroughyearsofseparationonlybyletters,remained
constantandaffectionate,andIshallalwaysbedeeplygratefulforit".They
alsobothinfluencedeachother'spoetry.LowellcitedBishop'sinfluenceon
hispoem"SkunkHour"whichhesaid,"[was]modeledonMissBishop's'The
Armadillo.'"Also,hispoem"TheScream"is"derivedfrom...Bishop'sstoryIn
theVillage.""NorthHaven,"oneofthelastpoemsshepublishedduringher
lifetime,waswritteninmemoryofLowellin1978.
TravelandSuccess
Bishophadanindependentincomeinearlyadulthoodasaresultofan
inheritancefromherdeceasedfatherthatdidnotrunoutuntiltheendofher
life.Withthisinheritance,Bishopwasabletotravelwidelywithoutworrying
aboutemploymentandlivedinmanycitiesandcountrieswhichare
describedinherpoems.ShelivedinFranceforseveralyearsinthe
mid-1930swithafriendsheknewatVassar,LouiseCrane,whowasa
paper-manufacturingheiress.In1938,BishoppurchasedahousewithCrane
at624WhiteStreetinKeyWest,Florida.WhilelivingthereBishopmadethe
acquaintanceofPaulinePfeifferHemingway,whohaddivorcedErnest
Hemingwayin1940.
In1949to1950,shewasConsultantinPoetryfortheLibraryofCongress,
andlivedatBerthaLooker'sBoardinghouse,131230thStreetNorthwest,
Washington,D.C.,inGeorgetown.In1946,MarianneMooresuggested
BishopfortheHoughtonMifflinPrizeforpoetry,whichBishopwon.Herfirst
book,North&South,waspublishedin1,000copies.Thebookpromptedthe
literarycriticRandallJarrelltowritethatallherpoemshavewritten
underneath,'Ihaveseenit,'"referringtoBishop'stalentforvividdescription.
Uponreceivingasubstantial$2,500travelingfellowshipfromBrynMawr
Collegein1951,BishopsetofftocircumnavigateSouthAmericabyboat.
ArrivinginSantos,BrazilinNovemberofthatyear,Bishopexpectedtostay
twoweeksbutstayedfifteenyears.ShelivedinPtropoliswitharchitectLota
deMacedoSoares,descendedfromaprominentandnotablepoliticalfamily.
WhilelivinginBrazil,in1956BishopreceivedthePulitzerPrizefora
collectionofpoetry,Poems:North&South/AColdSpring,whichcombined
herfirsttwobooks.AlthoughBishopwasnotforthcomingaboutdetailsofher
romancewithSoares,muchoftheirrelationshipwasdocumentedinBishop's
extensivecorrespondencewithSamuelAshleyBrown.However,initslater
years,therelationshipdeteriorated,becomingvolatileandtempestuous,
markedbyboutsofdepression,tantrumsandalcoholism.
ItwasduringhertimeinBrazilthatElizabethBishopbecameincreasingly
interestedinthelanguagesandliteraturesofLatinAmerica.Shewas
influencedbySouthandCentralAmericanpoets,includingtheMexicanpoet,
OctavioPaz,aswellastheBrazilianpoetsJooCabraldeMeloNetoand
CarlosDrummonddeAndradeandtranslatedtheirworkintoEnglish.
RegardingdeAndrade,shesaid,"Ididn'tknowhimatall.He'ssupposedto
beveryshy.I'msupposedtobeveryshy.We'vemetonceonthe
sidewalkatnight.Wehadjustcomeoutofthesamerestaurant,andhe
kissedmyhandpolitelywhenwewereintroduced."AfterSoarestookher
ownlifein1967BishopspentmoretimeintheUS.
LiteraryStyleandIdentity
Bishopdidnotseeherselfasa"lesbianpoet"orasa"femalepoet."Although
shestillconsideredherselftobe"astrongfeminist,"sheonlywantedtobe
judgedbasedonthequalityofherwritingandnotonhergenderorsexual
orientation.Also,wheresomeofhernotablecontemporarieslikeRobert
LowellandJohnBerrymanmadetheintimate,oftensordiddetailsoftheir
personallivesanimportantpartoftheirpoetry,Bishopavoidedthispractice
altogether.Forinstance,likeBerryman,Bishopstruggledwithalcoholismand
depressionthroughoutheradultlife;butBishopneverwroteaboutthis
struggle(whereasBerrymanmadehisalcoholismanddepressionafocal
pointinhisdreamsongpoems).
Incontrasttothisconfessionalstyleinvolvinglargeamountsof
self-exposure,Bishop'sstyleofwriting,thoughitsometimesinvolvedsparse
detailsfromherpersonallife,wasknownforitshighlydetailedand
objective,distantpointofviewandforitsreticenceonthesordidsubject
matterthatobsessedhercontemporaries.IncontrasttoapoetlikeLowell,
whenBishopwroteaboutdetailsandpeoplefromherownlife(asshedidin
herstoryaboutherchildhoodandhermentallyunstablemotherin"Inthe
Village"),shealwaysuseddiscretion.
Althoughshewasgenerallysupportiveofthe"confessional"styleofher
friend,RobertLowell,shedrewthelineatLowell'shighlycontroversialbook
TheDolphin(1973),inwhichheusedandalteredprivatelettersfromhis
ex-wife,ElizabethHardwick(whomhe'drecentlydivorcedafter23yearsof
marriage),asmaterialforhispoems.InalettertoLowell,datedMarch21,
1972,Bishopstronglyurgedhimagainstpublishingthebook,writing,"One
canuseone'slifeasmaterial[forpoems]--onedoesanywaybutthese
lettersaren'tyouviolatingatrust?IFyouweregivenpermissionIFyou
hadn'tchangedthem...etc.Butartjustisn'tworththatmuch."
LaterCareer
InadditiontowinningthePulitzerPrize,BishopwontheNationalBookAward
andtheNationalBookCriticsCircleAwardaswellastwoGuggenheim
FellowshipsandanIngramMerrillFoundationgrant.In1976,shebecame
thefirstwomantoreceivetheNeustadtInternationalPrizeforLiterature,
andremainstheonlyAmericantobeawardedthatprize.
Bishoplecturedinhighereducationforanumberofyearsstartinginthe
1970swhenherinheritancebegantorunout.Forashorttimeshetaughtat
theUniversityofWashington,beforeteachingatHarvardUniversityfor
sevenyears.Sheoftenspenthersummersinhersummerhouseinthe
islandcommunityofNorthHaven,Maine.ShetaughtatNewYorkUniversity,
beforefinishingattheMassachusettsInstituteofTechnology.She
commented"IdontthinkIbelieveinwritingcoursesatallItstrue,
childrensometimeswritewonderfulthings,paintwonderfulpictures,butI
thinktheyshouldbediscouraged."
In1971BishopbeganarelationshipwithAliceMethfessel.Neveraprolific
writer,Bishopnotedthatshewouldbeginmanyprojectsandleavethem
unfinished.Shepublishedherlastbookin1976,GeographyIII.Threeyears
later,shediedofacerebralaneurysminherapartmentatLewisWharf,
Boston.SheisburiedinHopeCemeteryinWorcester,Massachusetts.Alice
Methfesselwasherliteraryexecutor.
AwardsandHonors
1945:HoughtonMifflinPoetryPrizeFellowship
1947:GuggenheimFellowship
1949:AppointedConsultantinPoetryattheLibraryofCongress
1950:AmericanAcademyofArtsandLettersAward
1951:LucyMartinDonellyFellowship(awardedbyBrynMawrCollege)
1953:ShelleyMemorialAward
1954:ElectedtolifetimemembershipintheNationalInstituteofArtsand
Letters
1956:PulitzerPrizeforPoetry
1960:ChapelbrookFoundationAward
1964:AcademyofAmericanPoetsFellowship
1968:FellowoftheAmericanAcademyofArtsandSciences
1968:Ingram-MerrillFoundationGrant
1969:NationalBookAward
1969:TheOrderoftheRioBranco(awardedbytheBraziliangovernment)
1974:HarrietMonroePoetryAward
1976:BooksAbroad/NeustadtInternationalPrize
1976:ElectedtotheAmericanAcademyofArtsandLetters
1977:NationalBookCriticsCircleAward
1978:GuggenheimFellowship
Works:
PoetryCollections
North&South(HoughtonMifflin,1946)
Poems:North&South/AColdSpring(HoughtonMifflin,1955)
AColdSpring(HoughtonMifflin,1956)
QuestionsofTravel(Farrar,Straus,andGiroux,1965)
TheCompletePoems(Farrar,Straus,andGiroux,1969)
GeographyIII,(Farrar,Straus,andGiroux,1976)
TheCompletePoems:19271979(Farrar,Straus,andGiroux,1983)
EdgarAllanPoe&TheJuke-Box:UncollectedPoems,Drafts,andFragments
byElizabethBishoped.AliceQuinn,(Farrar,Straus,andGiroux,2006)
OtherWorks
TheDiaryofHelenaMorley,byAliceBrant,translatedandwithan
IntroductionbyElizabethBishop,(Farrar,Straus,andCudahy,1957)
TheBalladoftheBurglarofBabylon(Farrar,Straus,andGiroux,1968)
AnAnthologyofTwentiethCenturyBrazilianPoetryeditedbyElizabeth
BishopandEmanuelBrasil,(WesleyanUniversityPress(1972)
TheCollectedProse(Farrar,Straus,andGiroux,1984)
OneArt:LettersselectedandeditedbyRobertGiroux,(Farrar,Straus,and
Giroux,1994)
ExchangingHats:ElizabethBishopPaintings,editedandwithanIntroduction
byWilliamBenton,(Farrar,Straus,andGiroux,1996)
Poems,ProseandLettersRobertGirouxandLloydSchwartz,eds.(NewYork:
LibraryofAmerica,2008)
WordsinAir:TheCompleteCorrespondenceBetweenElizabethBishopand
RobertLowell,ed.ThomasTravisano,SaskiaHamilton(Farrar,Strauss&
Giroux,2008)
ConversationswithElizabethBishop.GeorgeMonteiroEd.(UniversityPress
ofMississippi1996)
A Miracle for Breakfast

Atsixo'clockwewerewaitingforcoffee,
waitingforcoffeeandthecharitablecrumb
thatwasgoingtobeservedfromacertainbalcony
--likekingsofold,orlikeamiracle.
Itwasstilldark.Onefootofthesun
steadieditselfonalongrippleintheriver.
Thefirstferryofthedayhadjustcrossedtheriver.
Itwassocoldwehopedthatthecoffee
wouldbeveryhot,seeingthatthesun
wasnotgoingtowarmus;andthatthecrumb
wouldbealoafeach,buttered,byamiracle.
Atsevenamansteppedoutonthebalcony.
Hestoodforaminutealoneonthebalcony
lookingoverourheadstowardtheriver.
Aservanthandedhimthemakingsofamiracle,
consistingofonelonecupofcoffee
andoneroll,whichheproceededtocrumb,
hishead,sotospeak,intheclouds--alongwiththesun.
Wasthemancrazy?Whatunderthesun
washetryingtodo,upthereonhisbalcony!
Eachmanreceivedoneratherhardcrumb,
whichsomeflickedscornfullyintotheriver,
and,inacup,onedropofthecoffee.
Someofusstoodaround,waitingforthemiracle.
IcantellwhatIsawnext;itwasnotamiracle.
Abeautifulvillastoodinthesun
andfromitsdoorscamethesmellofhotcoffee.
Infront,abaroquewhiteplasterbalcony
addedbybirds,whonestalongtheriver,
--Isawitwithoneeyeclosetothecrumb-andgalleriesandmarblechambers.Mycrumb
mymansion,madeformebyamiracle,
throughages,byinsects,birds,andtheriver
workingthestone.Everyday,inthesun,
atbreakfasttimeIsitonmybalcony
withmyfeetup,anddrinkgallonsofcoffee.
Welickedupthecrumbandswallowedthecoffee.
Awindowacrosstherivercaughtthesun
asifthemiraclewereworking,onthewrongbalcony.
ElizabethBishop
A Prodigal
Thebrownenormousodorhelivedby
wastooclose,withitsbreathingandthickhair,
forhimtojudge.Thefloorwasrotten;thesty
wasplasteredhalfwayupwithglass-smoothdung.
Light-lashed,self-righteous,abovemovingsnouts,
thepigs'eyesfollowedhim,acheerfulstare-eventothesowthatalwaysateheryoung-till,sickening,heleanedtoscratchherhead.
Butsometimesmorningsafterdrinkingbouts
(hehidthepintsbehindthetwo-by-fours),
thesunriseglazedthebarnyardmudwithred
theburningpuddlesseemedtoreassure.
Andthenhethoughthealmostmightendure
hisexileyetanotheryearormore.
Buteveningsthefirststarcametowarn.
Thefarmerwhomheworkedforcameatdark
toshutthecowsandhorsesinthebarn
beneaththeiroverhangingcloudsofhay,
withpitchforks,faintforkedlightnings,catchinglight,
safeandcompanionableasintheArk.
Thepigsstuckouttheirlittlefeetandsnored.
Thelantern--likethesun,goingaway-laidonthemudapacingaureole.
Carryingabucketalongaslimyboard,
hefeltthebats'uncertainstaggeringflight,
hisshudderinginsights,beyondhiscontrol,
touchinghim.Butittookhimalongtime
finallytomakeuphismindtogohome.
ElizabethBishop
A Summers Dream
Tothesaggingwharf
fewshipscouldcome.
Thepopulationnumbered
twogiants,anidiot,adwarf,
agentlestorekeeper
asleepbehindhiscounter,
andourkindlandlady
thedwarfwasherdressmaker.
Theidiotcouldbebeguiled
bypickingblackberries,
butthenthrewthemaway.
Theshrunkenseamstresssmiled.
Bythesea,lying
blueasamackerel,
ourboardinghousewasstreaked
asthoughithadbeencrying.
Extraordinarygeraniums
crowdedthefrontwindows,
thefloorsglitteredwith
assortedlinoleums.
Everynightwelistened
forahornedowl.
Inthehornedlampflame,
thewallpaperglistened.
Thegiantwiththestammer
wasthelandladysson,
grumblingonthestairs
overanoldgrammar.
Hewasmorose,
butshewascheerful.
Thebedroomwascold,
thefeatherbedclose.
Wewereawakenedinthedarkby
thesomnambulistbrook
nearingthesea,
stilldreamingaudibly.
ElizabethBishop
Anaphora
Eachdaywithsomuchceremony
begins,withbirds,withbells,
withwhistlesfromafactory;
suchwhite-goldskiesoureyes
firstopenon,suchbrilliantwalls
thatforamomentwewonder
"Whereisthemusiccomingfrom,theenergy?
Thedaywasmeantforwhatineffablecreature
wemusthavemissed?"Ohpromptlyhe
appearsandtakeshisearthlynature
instantly,instantlyfalls
victimoflongintrigue,
assumingmemoryandmortal
mortalfatigue.
Moreslowlyfallingintosight
andshoweringintostippledfaces,
darkening,condensingallhislight;
inspiteofallthedreaming
squandereduponhimwiththatlook,
suffersourusesandabuses,
sinksthroughthedriftofbodies,
sinksthroughthedriftofvlasses
toeveningtothebeggarinthepark
who,weary,withoutlamporbook
preparesstupendousstudies:
thefieryevent
ofeverydayinendless
endlessassent.
ElizabethBishop
Argument
Daysthatcannotbringyounear
orwillnot,
Distancetryingtoappear
somethingmoreobstinate,
arguearguearguewithme
endlessly
neitherprovingyoulesswantednorlessdear.
Distance:Rememberallthatland
beneaththeplane;
thatcoastline
ofdimbeachesdeepinsand
stretchingindistinguishably
alltheway,
allthewaytowheremyreasonsend?
Days:Andthink
ofallthoseclutteredinstruments,
onetoafact,
cancelingeachother'sexperience;
howtheywere
likesomehideouscalendar
"ComplimentsofNever&Forever,Inc."
Theintimidatingsound
ofthesevoices
wemustseparatelyfind
canandshallbevanquished:
DaysandDistancedisarrayedagain
andgone...
ElizabethBishop
10
Arrival At Santos
Hereisacoast;hereisaharbor;
here,afterameagerdietofhorizon,issomescenery:
impracticallyshapedand--whoknows?--self-pityingmountains,
sadandharshbeneaththeirfrivolousgreenery,
withalittlechurchontopofone.Andwarehouses,
someofthempaintedafeeblepink,orblue,
andsometall,uncertainpalms.Oh,tourist,
isthishowthiscountryisgoingtoansweryou
andyourimmodestdemandsforadifferentworld,
andabetterlife,andcompletecomprehension
ofbothatlast,andimmediately,
aftereighteendaysofsuspension?
Finishyourbreakfast.Thetenderiscoming,
astrangeandancientcraft,flyingastrangeandbrilliantrag.
Sothat'stheflag.Ineversawitbefore.
Isomehowneverthoughtoftherebeingaflag,
butofcoursetherewas,allalong.Andcoins,Ipresume,
andpapermoney;theyremaintobeseen.
Andgingerlynowweclimbdowntheladderbackward,
myselfandafellowpassengernamedMissBreen,
descendingintothemidstoftwenty-sixfreighters
waitingtobeloadedwithgreencoffeebeaus.
Please,boy,dobemorecarefulwiththatboathook!
Watchout!Oh!IthascaughtMissBreen's
skirt!There!MissBreenisaboutseventy,
aretiredpolicelieutenant,sixfeettall,
withbeautifulbrightblueeyesandakindexpression.
Herhome,whensheisathome,isinGlensFall
s,NewYork.There.Wearesettled.
ThecustomsofficialswillspeakEnglish,wehope,
andleaveusourbourbonandcigarettes.
Portsarenecessities,likepostagestamps,orsoap,
buttheyseldomseemtocarewhatimpressiontheymake,
or,likethis,onlyattempt,sinceitdoesnotmatter,
theunassertivecolorsofsoap,orpostagestamps-wastingawayliketheformer,slippingthewaythelatter
dowhenwemailtheletterswewroteontheboat,
eitherbecausethegluehereisveryinferior
orbecauseoftheheat.WeleaveSantosatonce;
wearedrivingtotheinterior.
ElizabethBishop
11
At the Fishhouses
Althoughitisacoldevening,
downbyoneofthefishhouses
anoldmansitsnetting,
hisnet,inthegloamingalmostinvisible,
adarkpurple-brown,
andhisshuttlewornandpolished.
Theairsmellssostrongofcodfish
itmakesone'snoserunandone'seyeswater.
Thefivefishhouseshavesteeplypeakedroofs
andnarrow,cleatedgangplanksslantup
tostoreroomsinthegables
forthewheelbarrowstobepushedupanddownon.
Allissilver:theheavysurfaceofthesea,
swellingslowlyasifconsideringspillingover,
isopaque,butthesilverofthebenches,
thelobsterpots,andmasts,scattered
amongthewildjaggedrocks,
isofanapparenttranslucence
likethesmalloldbuildingswithanemeraldmoss
growingontheirshorewardwalls.
Thebigfishtubsarecompletelylined
withlayersofbeautifulherringscales
andthewheelbarrowsaresimilarlyplastered
withcreamyiridescentcoatsofmail,
withsmalliridescentfliescrawlingonthem.
Uponthelittleslopebehindthehouses,
setinthesparsebrightsprinkleofgrass,
isanancientwoodencapstan,
cracked,withtwolongbleachedhandles
andsomemelancholystains,likedriedblood,
wheretheironworkhasrusted.
TheoldmanacceptsaLuckyStrike.
Hewasafriendofmygrandfather.
Wetalkofthedeclineinthepopulation
andofcodfishandherring
whilehewaitsforaherringboattocomein.
Therearesequinsonhisvestandonhisthumb.
Hehasscrapedthescales,theprincipalbeauty,
fromunnumberedfishwiththatblackoldknife,
thebladeofwhichisalmostwornaway.
Downatthewater'sedge,attheplace
wheretheyhauluptheboats,upthelongramp
descendingintothewater,thinsilver
treetrunksarelaidhorizontally
acrossthegraystones,downanddown
atintervalsoffourorfivefeet.
Colddarkdeepandabsolutelyclear,
elementbearabletonomortal,
tofishandtoseals...Onesealparticularly
Ihaveseenhereeveningafterevening.
12
Hewascuriousaboutme.Hewasinterestedinmusic;
likemeabelieverintotalimmersion,
soIusedtosinghimBaptisthymns.
Ialsosang"AMightyFortressIsOurGod."
Hestoodupinthewaterandregardedme
steadily,movinghisheadalittle.
Thenhewoulddisappear,thensuddenlyemerge
almostinthesamespot,withasortofshrug
asifitwereagainsthisbetterjudgment.
Colddarkdeepandabsolutelyclear,
thecleargrayicywater...Back,behindus,
thedignifiedtallfirsbegin.
Bluish,associatingwiththeirshadows,
amillionChristmastreesstand
waitingforChristmas.Thewaterseemssuspended
abovetheroundedgrayandblue-graystones.
Ihaveseenitoverandover,thesamesea,thesame,
slightly,indifferentlyswingingabovethestones,
icilyfreeabovethestones,
abovethestonesandthentheworld.
Ifyoushoulddipyourhandin,
yourwristwouldacheimmediately,
yourboneswouldbegintoacheandyourhandwouldburn
asifthewaterwereatransmutationoffire
thatfeedsonstonesandburnswithadarkgrayflame.
Ifyoutastedit,itwouldfirsttastebitter,
thenbriny,thensurelyburnyourtongue.
Itislikewhatweimagineknowledgetobe:
dark,salt,clear,moving,utterlyfree,
drawnfromthecoldhardmouth
oftheworld,derivedfromtherockybreasts
forever,flowinganddrawn,andsince
ourknowledgeishistorical,flowing,andflown.
ElizabethBishop
13
Cape Breton
Outonthehigh"birdislands,"CibouxandHertford,
therazorbillauksandthesilly-lookingpuffinsallstand
withtheirbackstothemainland
insolemn,unevenlinesalongthecliff'sbrowngrass-frayededge,
whilethefewsheeppasturedtherego"Baaa,baaa."
(Sometimes,frightenedbyaeroplanes,theystampede
andfalloverintotheseaorontotherocks.)
Thesilkenwaterisweavingandweaving,
disappearingunderthemistequallyinalldirections,
liftedandpenetratednowandthen
byoneshag'sdrippingserpent-neck,
andsomewherethemistincorporatesthepulse,
rapidbutunurgent,ofamotorboat.
Thesamemisthangsinthinlayers
amongthevalleysandgorgesofthemainland
likerottingsnow-icesuckedaway
almosttospirit;theghostsofglaciersdrift
amongthosefoldsandfoldsoffir:spruceandhackmatack-dull,dead,deeppea-cockcolors,
eachriserdistinguishedfromthenext
byanirregularnervoussaw-toothedge,
alike,butcertainasastereoscopicview.
Thewildroadclambersalongthebrinkofthecoast.
Onitstandoccasionalsmallyellowbulldozers,
butwithouttheirdrivers,becausetodayisSunday.
Thelittlewhitechurcheshavebeendroppedintothemattedhills
likelostquartzarrowheads.
Theroadappearstohavebeenabandoned.
Whateverthelandscapehadofmeaningappearstohavebeenabandoned,
unlesstheroadisholdingitback,intheinterior,
wherewecannotsee,
wheredeeplakesarereputedtobe,
anddisusedtrailsandmountainsofrock
andmilesofburntforests,standingingrayscratches
liketheadmirablescripturesmadeonstonesbystones-andtheseregionsnowhavelittletosayforthemselves
exceptinthousandsoflightsong-sparrowsongsfloatingupward
freely,dispassionately,throughthemist,andmeshing
inbrown-wet,finetornfish-nets.
Asmallbuscomesalong,inup-and-downrushes,
packedwithpeople,eventoitsstep.
(Onweekdayswithgroceries,spareautomobileparts,andpumpparts,
buttodayonlytwopreachersextra,onecarryinghisfrockcoatona
hanger.)
Itpassestheclosedroadsidestand,theclosedschoolhouse,
wheretodaynoflagisflying
fromtherough-adzedpoletoppedwithawhitechinadoorknob.
Itstops,andamancarryingabaygetsoff,
climbsoverastile,andgoesdownthroughasmallsteepmeadow,
14
whichestablishesitspovertyinasnowfallofdaisies,
tohisinvisiblehousebesidethewater.
Thebirdskeeponsinging,acalfbawls,thebusstarts.
Thethinmistfollows
thewhitemutationsofitsdream;
anancientchillisripplingthedarkbrooks.
ElizabethBishop
15
Casabianca
Love'stheboystoodontheburningdeck
tryingtorecite`Theboystoodon
theburningdeck.'Love'stheson
stoodstammeringelocution
whilethepoorshipinflameswentdown.
Love'stheobstinateboy,theship,
eventheswimmingsailors,who
wouldlikeaschoolroomplatform,too,
oranexcusetostay
ondeck.Andlove'stheburningboy.
ElizabethBishop
16
Chemin De Fer
Aloneontherailroadtrack
Iwalkedwithpoundingheart.
Thetiesweretooclosetogether
ormaybetoofarapart.
Thescenerywasimpoverished:
scrub-pineandoak;beyond
itsmingledgray-greenfoliage
Isawthelittlepond
wherethedirtyoldhermitlives,
lielikeanoldtear
holdingontoitsinjuries
lucidlyyearafteryear.
Thehermitshotoffhisshot-gun
andthetreebyhiscabinshook.
Overthepondwentaripple
Thepethenwentchook-chook.
"Loveshouldbeputintoaction!"
screamedtheoldhermit.
Acrossthepondanecho
triedandtriedtoconfirmit.
ElizabethBishop
17
Cirque D'Hiver
Acrossthefloorflitsthemechanicaltoy,
fitforakingofseveralcenturiesback.
Alittlecircushorsewithrealwhitehair.
Hiseyesareglossyblack.
Hebearsalittledanceronhisback.
Shestandsuponhertoesandturnsandturns.
Aslantingsprayofartificialroses
isstitchedacrossherskirtandtinselbodice.
Aboveherheadsheposes
anothersprayofartificialroses.
HismaneandtailarestraightfromChirico.
Hehasaformal,melancholysoul.
Hefeelsherpinktoesdangletowardhisback
alongthelittlepole
thatpiercesbothherbodyandhersoul
andgoesthroughhis,andreappearsbelow,
underhisbelly,asabigtinkey.
Hecantersthreesteps,thenhemakesabow,
cantersagain,bowsononeknee,
canters,thenclicksandstops,andlooksatme.
Thedancer,bythistime,hasturnedherback.
Heisthemoreintelligentbyfar.
Facingeachotherratherdesperatelyhiseyeislikeastarwestareandsay,"Well,wehavecomethisfar."
ElizabethBishop
18
Conversation
Thetumultintheheart
keepsaskingquestions.
Andthenitstopsandundertakestoanswer
inthesametoneofvoice.
Noonecouldtellthedifference.
Uninnocent,theseconversationsstart,
andthenengagethesenses,
onlyhalf-meaningto.
Andthenthereisnochoice,
andthenthereisnosense;
untilaname
andallitsconnotationarethesame.
ElizabethBishop
19
Exchanging Hats
Unfunnyuncleswhoinsist
intryingonalady'shat,
--oh,evenifthejokefallsflat,
weshareyourslighttransvestitetwist
inspiteofourembarrassment.
Costumeandcustomarecomplex.
Theheadgearoftheothersex
inspiresustoexperiment.
Anandrousaunts,who,atthebeach
withpaperplatesuponyourlaps,
keepputtingontheyachtsmen'scaps
withexhibitionisticscreech,
thevisorshangingo'ertheear
sothatthegoldenanchorsdrag,
--thetidesoffashionneverlag.
Suchcapsmaynotbewornnextyear.
Oryouwhodonthepaperplate
itself,andputsomegrapesuponit,
orsporttheIndian'sfeatherbonnet,
--perversitiesmayaggravate
thenaturalmadnessofthehatter.
Andiftheoperahatscollapse
andcrownsgrowdraughty,then,perhaps,
hethinkswhatmightamitermatter?
Unfunnyuncle,youwhoworea
hattoobig,oronetoomany,
tellus,can'tyou,arethereany
starsinsideyourblackfedora?
Auntexemplaryandslim,
withavernaleyes,wewonder
whatslowchangestheyseeunder
theirvast,shady,turned-downbrim.
ElizabethBishop
20
Filling Station
Oh,butitisdirty!
--thislittlefillingstation,
oil-soaked,oil-permeated
toadisturbing,over-all
blacktranslucency.
Becarefulwiththatmatch!
Fatherwearsadirty,
oil-soakedmonkeysuit
thatcutshimunderthearms,
andseveralquickandsaucy
andgreasysonsassisthim
(it'safamilyfillingstation),
allquitethoroughlydirty.
Dotheyliveinthestation?
Ithasacementporch
behindthepumps,andonit
asetofcrushedandgreaseimpregnatedwickerwork;
onthewickersofa
adirtydog,quitecomfy.
Somecomicbooksprovide
theonlynoteofcolor-ofcertaincolor.Theylie
uponabigdimdoily
drapingataboret
(partoftheset),beside
abighirsutebegonia.
Whytheextraneousplant?
Whythetaboret?
Why,ohwhy,thedoily?
(Embroideredindaisystitch
withmarguerites,Ithink,
andheavywithgraycrochet.)
Somebodyembroideredthedoily.
Somebodywaterstheplant,
oroilsit,maybe.Somebody
arrangestherowsofcans
sothattheysoftlysay:
ESSO--SO--SO--SO
tohigh-strungautomobiles.
Somebodylovesusall.
ElizabethBishop
21
First Death In Nova Scotia

Inthecold,coldparlor
mymotherlaidoutArthur
beneaththechromographs:
Edward,PrinceofWales,
withPrincessAlexandra,
andKingGeorgewithQueenMary.
Belowthemonthetable
stoodastuffedloon
shotandstuffedbyUncle
Arthur,Arthur'sfather.
SinceUncleArthurfired
abulletintohim,
hehadn'tsaidaword.
Hekepthisowncounsel
onhiswhite,frozenlake,
themarble-toppedtable.
Hisbreastwasdeepandwhite,
coldandcaressable;
hiseyeswereredglass,
muchtobedesired.
"Come,"saidmymother,
"Comeandsaygood-bye
toyourlittlecousinArthur."
Iwasliftedupandgiven
onelilyofthevalley
toputinArthur'shand.
Arthur'scoffinwas
alittlefrostedcake,
andthered-eyedlooneyedit
fromhiswhite,frozenlake.
Arthurwasverysmall.
Hewasallwhite,likeadoll
thathadn'tbeenpaintedyet.
JackFrosthadstartedtopainthim
thewayhealwayspainted
theMapleLeaf(Forever).
Hehadjustbegunonhishair,
afewredstrokes,andthen
JackFrosthaddroppedthebrush
andlefthimwhite,forever.
Thegraciousroyalcouples
werewarminredandermine;
theirfeetwerewellwrappedup
intheladies'erminetrains.
TheyinvitedArthurtobe
thesmallestpageatcourt.
ButhowcouldArthurgo,
clutchinghistinylily,
22
withhiseyesshutupsotight
andtheroadsdeepinsnow?
ElizabethBishop
23
Five Flights Up
Stilldark.
Theunknownbirdsitsonhisusualbranch.
Thelittledognextdoorbarksinhissleep
inquiringly,justonce.
Perhapsinhissleep,too,thebirdinquires
onceortwice,quavering.
Questions---ifthatiswhattheyare--answereddirectly,simply,
bydayitself.
Enormousmorning,ponderous,meticulous;
graylightstreakingeachbarebranch,
eachsingletwig,alongoneside,
makinganothertree,ofglassyveins...
Thebirdstillsitsthere.Nowheseemstoyawn.
Thelittleblackdogrunsinhisyard.
Hisowner'svoicearises,stern,
"Yououghttobeashamed!"
Whathashedone?
Hebouncescheerfullyupanddown;
herushesincirclesinthefallenleaves.
Obviously,hehasnosenseofshame.
Heandthebirdknoweverythingisanswered,
alltakencareof,
noneedtoaskagain.
---Yesterdaybroughttotodaysolightly!
(AyesterdayIfindalmostimpossibletolift.)
ElizabethBishop
24
Florida
Thestatewiththeprettiestname,
thestatethatfloatsinbrackishwater,
heldtogetherbymangraveroots
thatbearwhilelivingoystersinclusters,
andwhendeadstrewwhiteswampswithskeletons,
dottedasifbombarded,withgreenhummocks
likeancientcannon-ballssproutinggrass.
ThestatefulloflongS-shapedbirds,blueandwhite,
andunseenhystericalbirdswhorushupthescale
everytimeinatantrum.
Tanagersembarrassedbytheirflashiness,
andpelicanswhosedelightitistoclown;
whocoastforfunonthestrongtidalcurrents
inandoutamongthemangroveislands
andstandonthesand-barsdryingtheirdampgoldwings
onsun-litevenings.
Enormousturtles,helplessandmild,
dieandleavetheirbarnacledshellsonthebeaches,
andtheirlargewhiteskullswithroundeye-sockets
twicethesizeofaman's.
Thepalmtreesclatterinthestiffbreeze
likethebillsofthepelicans.Thetropicalraincomesdown
tofreshenthetide-loopedstringsoffadingshells:
Job'sTear,theChineseAlphabet,thescarceJunonia,
parti-coloredpectinsandLadies'Ears,
arrangedasonagrayragofrottedcalico,
theburiedIndianPrincess'sskirt;
withthesethemonotonous,endless,saggingcoast-line
isdelicatelyornamented.
Thirtyormorebuzzardsaredriftingdown,down,down,
oversomethingtheyhavespottedintheswamp,
incircleslikestirred-upflakesofsediment
sinkingthroughwater.
Smokefromwoods-firesfiltersfinebluesolvents.
Onstumpsanddeadtreesthecharringislikeblackvelvet.
Themosquitoes
gohuntingtothetuneoftheirferociousobbligatos.
Afterdark,thefirefliesmaptheheavensinthemarsh
untilthemoonrises.
Coldwhite,notbright,themoonlightiscoarse-meshed,
andthecareless,corruptstateisallblackspecks
toofarapart,anduglywhites;thepoorest
post-cardofitself.
Afterdark,thepoolsseemtohaveslippedaway.
Thealligator,whohasfivedistinctcalls:
friendliness,love,mating,war,andawarning-whimpersandspeaksinthethroat
oftheIndianPrincess.
ElizabethBishop
25
Giant Snail
Therainhasstopped.Thewaterfallwillroarlikethatall
night.Ihavecomeouttotakeawalkandfeed.Mybody--foot,
thatis--iswetandcoldandcoveredwithsharpgravel.Itis
white,thesizeofadinnerplate.Ihavesetmyselfagoal,a
certainrock,butitmaywellbedawnbeforeIgetthere.
AlthoughImoveghostlikeandmyfloatingedgesbarelygraze
theground,Iamheavy,heavy,heavy.Mywhitemusclesare
alreadytired.Igivetheimpressionofmysteriousease,butitis
onlywiththegreatesteffortofmywillthatIcanriseabovethe
smalleststonesandsticks.AndImustnotletmyselfbedistractedbythoseroughspearsofgrass.Don'ttouchthem.Draw
back.Withdrawalisalwaysbest.
Therainhasstopped.Thewaterfallmakessuchanoise!(And
whatifIfalloverit?)Themountainsofblackrockgiveoffsuch
cloudsofsteam!Shinystreamersarehangingdowntheirsides.
Whenthisoccurs,wehaveasayingthattheSnailGodshave
comedowninhaste.Icouldneverdescendsuchsteepescarpments,muchlessdreamofclimbingthem.
Thattoadwastoobig,too,likeme.Hiseyesbeseechedmy
love.Ourproportionshorrifyourneighbors.
Restaminute;relax.Flattenedtotheground,mybodyislike
apallid,decomposingleaf.What'sthattappingonmyshell?
Nothing.Let'sgoon.
Mysidesmoveinrhythmicwaves,justofftheground,from
fronttoback,thewakeofaship,wax-whitewater,oraslowly
meltingfloe.Iamcold,cold,coldasice.Myblind,whitebull's
headwasaCretanscare-head;degenerate,myfourhornsthat
can'tattack.Thesidesofmymoutharenowmyhands.They
presstheearthandsuckithard.Ah,butIknowmyshellis
beautiful,andhigh,andglazed,andshining.Iknowitwell,
althoughIhavenotseenit.Itscurledwhitelipisofthefinest
enamel.Inside,itisassmoothassilk,andI,Ifillittoperfection.
Mywidewakeshines,nowitisgrowingdark.Ileavealovely
opalescentribbon:Iknowthis.
ButO!Iamtoobig.Ifeelit.Pityme.
IfandwhenIreachtherock,Ishallgointoacertaincrack
thereforthenight.Thewaterfallbelowwillvibratethrough
myshellandbodyallnightlong.InthatsteadypulsingIcan
rest.AllnightIshallbelikeasleepingear.
ElizabethBishop
26
Giant Toad
Iamtoobig.Toobigbyfar.Pityme.
Myeyesbulgeandhurt.Theyaremyonegreatbeauty,even
so.Theyseetoomuch,above,below.Andyet,thereisnotmuch
tosee.Therainhasstopped.Themistisgatheringonmyskin
indrops.Thedropsrundownmyback,runfromthecornersof
mydownturnedmouth,rundownmysidesanddripbeneath
mybelly.Perhapsthedropletsonmymottledhidearepretty,
likedewdrops,silveronamolderingleaf?Theychillme
throughandthrough.Ifeelmycolorschangingnow,mypigmentsgraduallyshudderandshiftover.
NowIshallgetbeneaththatoverhangingledge.Slowly.Hop.
Twoorthreetimesmore,silently.Thatwastoofar.I'm
standingup.Thelichen'sgray,androughtomyfrontfeet.Get
down.Turnfacingout,it'ssafer.Don'tbreatheuntilthesnail
getsby.Butwegotravellingthesameweathers.
Swallowtheairandmouthfulsofcoldmist.Givevoice,just
once.Ohowitechoedfromtherock!Whataprofound,angelic
bellIrang!
Ilive,Ibreathe,byswallowing.Once,somenaughtychildren
pickedmeup,meandtwobrothers.Theysetusdownagain
somewhereandinourmouthstheyputlitcigarettes.Wecould
nothelpbutsmokethem,totheend.Ithoughtitwasthedeath
ofme,butwhenIwasentirelyfilledwithsmoke,whenmyslack
mouthwasburning,andallmytripeswerehotanddry,they
letusgo.ButIwassickfordays.
Ihavebigshoulders,likeaboxer.Theyarenotmuscle,
however,andtheircolorisdark.Theyaremysacsofpoison,
thealmostunusedpoisonthatIbear,myburdenandmygreat
responsibility.Bigwingsofpoison,foldedonmyback.Beware,
Iamanangelindisguise;mywingsareevil,butnotdeadly.If
Iwillit,thepoisoncouldbreakthrough,blue-black,and
dangeroustoall.Blue-blackfumeswouldriseupontheair.
Beware,youfrivolouscrab.
ElizabethBishop
27
I Am in Need of Music
Iaminneedofmusicthatwouldflow
Overmyfretful,feelingfingertips,
Overmybitter-tainted,tremblinglips,
Withmelody,deep,clear,andliquid-slow.
Oh,forthehealingswaying,oldandlow,
Ofsomesongsungtorestthetireddead,
Asongtofalllikewateronmyhead,
Andoverquiveringlimbs,dreamflushedtoglow!
Thereisamagicmadebymelody:
Aspellofrest,andquietbreath,andcool
Heart,thatsinksthroughfadingcolorsdeep
Tothesubaqueousstillnessofthesea,
Andfloatsforeverinamoon-greenpool,
Heldinthearmsofrhythmandofsleep.
ElizabethBishop
28
In the Waiting Room

InWorcester,Massachusetts,
IwentwithAuntConsuelo
tokeepherdentist'sappointment
andsatandwaitedforher
inthedentist'swaitingroom.
Itwaswinter.Itgotdark
early.Thewaitingroom
wasfullofgrown-uppeople,
arcticsandovercoats,
lampsandmagazines.
Myauntwasinside
whatseemedlikealongtime
andwhileIwaitedandread
theNationalGeographic
(Icouldread)andcarefully
studiedthephotographs:
theinsideofavolcano,
black,andfullofashes;
thenitwasspillingover
inrivuletsoffire.
OsaandMartinJohnson
dressedinridingbreeches,
lacedboots,andpithhelmets.
Adeadmanslungonapole
"LongPig,"thecaptionsaid.
Babieswithpointedheads
woundroundandroundwithstring;
black,nakedwomenwithnecks
woundroundandroundwithwire
likethenecksoflightbulbs.
Theirbreastswerehorrifying.
Ireaditrightstraightthrough.
Iwastooshytostop.
AndthenIlookedatthecover:
theyellowmargins,thedate.
Suddenly,frominside,
cameanoh!ofpain
--AuntConsuelo'svoice-notveryloudorlong.
Iwasn'tatallsurprised;
eventhenIknewshewas
afoolish,timidwoman.
Imighthavebeenembarrassed,
butwasn't.Whattookme
completelybysurprise
wasthatitwasme:
myvoice,inmymouth.
Withoutthinkingatall
Iwasmyfoolishaunt,
I--we--werefalling,falling,
oureyesgluedtothecover
oftheNationalGeographic,
29
February,1918.
Isaidtomyself:threedays
andyou'llbesevenyearsold.
Iwassayingittostop
thesensationoffallingoff
theround,turningworld.
intocold,blue-blackspace.
ButIfelt:youareanI,
youareanElizabeth,
youareoneofthem.
Whyshouldyoubeone,too?
Iscarcelydaredtolook
toseewhatitwasIwas.
Igaveasidelongglance
--Icouldn'tlookanyhigher-atshadowygrayknees,
trousersandskirtsandboots
anddifferentpairsofhands
lyingunderthelamps.
Iknewthatnothingstranger
hadeverhappened,thatnothing
strangercouldeverhappen.
WhyshouldIbemyaunt,
orme,oranyone?
Whatsimilarities
boots,hands,thefamilyvoice
Ifeltinmythroat,oreven
theNationalGeographic
andthoseawfulhangingbreasts
heldusalltogether
ormadeusalljustone?
HowIdidn'tknowany
wordforithow"unlikely"...
HowhadIcometobehere,
likethem,andoverhear
acryofpainthatcouldhave
gotloudandworsebuthadn't?
Thewaitingroomwasbright
andtoohot.Itwassliding
beneathabigblackwave,
another,andanother.
ThenIwasbackinit.
TheWarwason.Outside,
inWorcester,Massachusetts,
werenightandslushandcold,
anditwasstillthefifth
ofFebruary,1918.
30
ElizabethBishop
31
Insomnia
Themooninthebureaumirror
looksoutamillionmiles
(andperhapswithpride,atherself,
butshenever,neversmiles)
farandawaybeyondsleep,or
perhapsshe'sadaytimesleeper.
BytheUniversedeserted,
she'dtellittogotohell,
andshe'dfindabodyofwater,
oramirror,onwhichtodwell.
Sowrapupcareinacobweb
anddropitdownthewell
intothatworldinverted
whereleftisalwaysright,
wheretheshadowsarereallythebody,
wherewestayawakeallnight,
wheretheheavensareshallowasthesea
isnowdeep,andyouloveme.
ElizabethBishop
32
Invitation to Miss Marianne Moore

FromBrooklyn,overtheBrooklynBridge,onthisfinemorning,
pleasecomeflying.
Inacloudoffierypalechemicals,
pleasecomeflying,
totherapidrollingofthousandsofsmallbluedrums
descendingoutofthemackerelsky
overtheglitteringgrandstandofharbor-water,
pleasecomeflying.
Whistles,pennantsandsmokeareblowing.Theships
aresignalingcordiallywithmultitudesofflags
risingandfallinglikebirdsallovertheharbor.
Enter:tworivers,gracefullybearing
countlesslittlepellucidjellies
incut-glassepergnesdraggingwithsilverchains.
Theflightissafe;theweatherisallarranged.
Thewavesarerunninginversesthisfinemorning.
Pleasecomeflying.
Comewiththepointedtoeofeachblackshoe
trailingasapphirehighlight,
withablackcapefulofbutterflywingsandbon-mots,
withheavenknowshowmanyangelsallriding
onthebroadblackbrimofyourhat,
pleasecomeflying.
Bearingamusicalinaudibleabacus,
aslightcensoriousfrown,andblueribbons,
pleasecomeflying.
Factsandskyscrapersglintinthetide;Manhattan
isallawashwithmoralsthisfinemorning,
sopleasecomeflying.
Mountingtheskywithnaturalheroism,
abovetheaccidents,abovethemalignantmovies,
thetaxicabsandinjusticesatlarge,
whilehornsareresoundinginyourbeautifulears
thatsimultaneouslylistento
asoftuninventedmusic,fitforthemuskdeer,
pleasecomeflying.
Forwhomthegrimmuseumswillbehave
likecourteousmalebower-birds,
forwhomtheagreeablelionslieinwait
onthestepsofthePublicLibrary,
eagertoriseandfollowthroughthedoors
upintothereadingrooms,
pleasecomeflying.
Wecansitdownandweep;wecangoshopping,
orplayatagameofconstantlybeingwrong
withapricelesssetofvocabularies,
orwecanbravelydeplore,butplease
33
pleasecomeflying.
Withdynastiesofnegativeconstructions
darkeninganddyingaroundyou,
withgrammarthatsuddenlyturnsandshines
likeflocksofsandpipersflying,
pleasecomeflying.
Comelikealightinthewhitemackerelsky,
comelikeadaytimecomet
withalongunnebuloustrainofwords,
fromBrooklyn,overtheBrooklynBridge,onthisfinemorning,
pleasecomeflying.
ElizabethBishop
34
Large Bad Picture

RememberingtheStraitofBelleIsleor
somenortherlyharborofLabrador,
beforehebecameaschoolteacher
agreat-unclepaintedabigpicture.
Recedingformilesoneitherside
intoaflushed,stillsky
areoverhangingpalebluecliffs
hundredsoffeethigh,
theirbasesfrettedbylittlearches,
theentrancestocaves
runninginalongthelevelofabay
maskedbyperfectwaves.
Onthemiddleofthatquietfloor
sitsafleetofsmallblackships,
square-rigged,sailsfurled,motionless,
theirsparslikeburntmatch-sticks.
Andhighabovethem,overthetallcliffs'
semi-translucentranks,
arescribbledhundredsoffineblackbirds
hanginginn'sinbanks.
Onecanheartheircrying,crying,
theonlysoundthereis
exceptforoccasionalsizhine
asalargeaquaticanimalbreathes.
Inthepinklight
thesmallredsungoesrolling,rolling,
roundandroundandroundatthesameheight
inperpetualsunset,comprehensive,consoling,
whiletheshipsconsiderit.
Apparentlytheyhavereachedtheirdestination.
Itwouldbehardtosaywhatbroughtthemthere,
commerceorcontemplation.
ElizabethBishop
35
Letter To N.Y.
ForLouiseCrane
InyournextletterIwishyou'dsay
whereyouaregoingandwhatyouaredoing;
howaretheplaysandaftertheplays
whatotherpleasuresyou'repursuing:
takingcabsinthemiddleofthenight,
drivingasiftosaveyoursoul
wheretheroadgoseroundandroundthepark
andthemeterglareslikeamoralowl,
andthetreeslooksoqueerandgreen
standingaloneinbigblackcaves
andsuddenlyyou'reinadifferentplace
whereeverythingseemstohappeninwaves,
andmostofthejokesyoujustcan'tcatch,
likedirtywordsrubbedoffaslate,
andthesongsareloudbutsomehowdim
anditgetssoteriblylate,
andcomingoutofthebrownstonehouse
tothegraysidewalk,thewateredstreet,
onesideofthebuildingsriseswiththesun
likeaglisteningfieldofwheat.
--Wheat,notoats,dear.I'mafraid
ifit'swheatit'snoneofyoursowing,
neverthelessI'dliketoknow
whatyouaredoingandwhereyouaregoing.
ElizabethBishop
36
Lines Written In The Fannie Farmer Cookbook

[GiventoFrankBidart]
Youwon'tbecomeagourmet*cook
BystudyingourFannie'sbook-HerthoughtsonFood&KeepingHouse
ArescarcelythoseofLévi-Strauss.
Nevertheless,you'llfind,Frankdear,
Thebasicelements**arehere.
Andifaproblemshouldarise:
TheSouffléfallbeforeyoureyes,
OrstrangethingshappentotheRice
--YouknowIlovetogiveadvice.
Elizabeth
Christmas,1971
*Forbiddenword
**Forbiddenphrase
P.S.Fannieshouldnotbeunderrated;
Shehasbecomesophisticated.
She'spickedupmanygourmet*tricks
Sincetheeditionof'96.
ElizabethBishop
37
Little Exercise
ForThomasEdwardsWanning
Thinkofthestormroamingtheskyuneasily
likeadoglookingforaplacetosleepin,
listentoitgrowling.
Thinkhowtheymustlooknow,themangrovekeys
lyingoutthereunresponsivetothelightning
indark,coarse-fibredfamilies,
whereoccasionallyaheronmayundohishead,
shakeuphisfeathers,makeanuncertaincomment
whenthesurroundingwatershines.
Thinkoftheboulevardandthelittlepalmtrees
allstuckinrows,suddenlyrevealed
asfistfulsoflimpfish-skeletons.
Itisrainingthere.Theboulevard
anditsbrokensidewalkswithweedsineverycrack,
arerelievedtobewet,theseatobefreshened.
Nowthestormgoesawayagaininaseries
ofsmall,badlylitbattle-scenes,
eachin"Anotherpartofthefield."
Thinkofsomeonesleepinginthebottomofarow-boat
tiedtoamangroverootorthepileofabridge;
thinkofhimasuninjured,barelydisturbed.
ElizabethBishop
38
Love Lies Sleeping

Earliestmorning,switchingallthetracks
thatcrosstheskyfromcinderstartostar,
couplingtheendsofstreets
totrainsoflight.
nowdrawusintodaylightinourbeds;
andclearawaywhatpressesonthebrain:
putouttheneonshapes
thatfloatandswellandglare
downthegrayavenuebetweentheeyes
inpinksandyellows,lettersandtwitchingsigns.
Hang-overmoons,wane,wane!
FromthewindowIsee
animmensecity,carefullyrevealed,
madedelicatebyover-workmanship,
detailupondetail,
corniceuponfacade,
reachingupsolanguidlyupinto
aweakwhitesky,itseemstowaverthere.
(Whereithasslowlygrown
inskiesofwater-glass
fromfusedbeadsofironandcoppercrystals,
thelittlechemical"garden"inajar
tremblesandstandsagain,
paleblue,blue-green,andbrick.)
Thesparrowshurriedlybegintheirplay.
Then,intheWest,"Boom!"andacloudofsmoke.
"Boom!"andtheexplodingball
ofblossombloomsagain.
(Andalltheemployeeswhoworkinaplants
wheresuchasoundsays"Danger,"oroncesaid"Death,"
turnintheirsleepandfeel
theshorthairsbristling
onbacksofnecks.)Thecloudofsmokemovesoff.
Ashirtistakenofathreadlikeclothes-line.
Alongthestreetbelow
thewater-wagoncomes
throwingitshissing,snowyfanacross
peelingsandnewspapers.Thewaterdries
light-dry,dark-wet,thepattern
ofthecoolwatermelon.
Iheartheday-springsofthemorningstrike
fromstonywallsandhallsandironbeds,
39
scatteredorgroupedcascades,
alarmsfortheexpected:
queercupidsofallpersonsgettingup,
whoseeveningmealtheywillprepareallday,
youwilldinewell
onhisheart,onhis,andhis,
sosendthemaboutyourbusinessaffectionately,
dragginginthestreetstheiruniqueloves.
Scourgethemwithrosesonly,
belightashelium,
foralwaystoone,orseveral,morningcomes
whoseheadhasfallenovertheedgeofhisbed,
whosefaceisturned
sothattheimageof
thecitygrowsdownintohisopeneyes
invertedanddistorted.No.Imean
distortedandrevealed,
ifheseesitatall.
ElizabethBishop
40
Lullaby For the Cat

Minnow,gotosleepanddream,
Closeyourgreatbigeyes;
RoundyourbedEventsprepare
Thepleasantestsurprise.
DarlingMinnow,dropthatfrown,
Justcooperate,
Notakittenshallbedrowned
IntheMarxistState.
JoyandLovewillbothbeyours,
Minnow,don'tbeglum.
Happydaysarecomingsoon-Sleep,andletthemcome...
ElizabethBishop
41
Manners
ForaChildof1918
Mygrandfathersaidtome
aswesatonthewagonseat,
"Besuretoremembertoalways
speaktoeveryoneyoumeet."
Wemetastrangeronfoot.
Mygrandfather'swhiptappedhishat.
"Goodday,sir.Goodday.Afineday."
AndIsaiditandbowedwhereIsat.
Thenweovertookaboyweknew
withhisbigpetcrowonhisshoulder.
"Alwaysoffereveryonearide;
don'tforgetthatwhenyougetolder,"
mygrandfathersaid.SoWilly
climbedupwithus,butthecrow
gavea"Caw!"andflewoff.Iwasworried.
Howwouldheknowwheretogo?
Butheflewalittlewayatatime
fromfenceposttofencepost,ahead;
andwhenWillywhistledheanswered.
"Afinebird,"mygrandfathersaid,
"andhe'swellbroughtup.See,heanswers
nicelywhenhe'sspokento.
Manorbeast,that'sgoodmanners.
Besurethatyoubothalwaysdo."
Whenautomobileswentby,
thedusthidthepeople'sfaces,
butweshouted"Goodday!Goodday!
Fineday!"atthetopofourvoices.
WhenwecametoHustlerHill,
hesaidthatthemarewastired,
soweallgotdownandwalked,
asourgoodmannersrequired.
ElizabethBishop
42
Manuelzinho
[Brazil.Afriendofthewriterisspeaking.]
Halfsquatter,halftenant(norent)
asortofinheritance;white,
inyourthirtiesnow,andsupposed
tosupplymewithvegetables,
butyoudon't;oryouwon't;oryoucan't
gettheideathroughyourbrain
theworld'sworstgardenersinceCain.
Titledaboveme,yourgardens
ravishmyeyes.Youedge
thebedsofsilvercabbages
withredcarnations,andlettuces
mixwithalyssum.Andthen
umbrellaantsarrive,
oritrainsforasolidweek
andthewholething'sruinedagain
andIbuyyoumorepoundsofseeds,
imported,guaranteed,
andeventuallyyoubringme
amysticthee-leggedcarrot,
orapumpkin"biggerthanthebaby."
Iwatchyouthroughtherain,
trotting,light,onbarefeet,
upthesteeppathsyouhavemade
oryourfatherandgrandfathermade
allovermyproperty,
withyourheadandbackinside
asoddenburlapbag,
andfeelIcan'tendureit
anotherminute;then,
indoors,besidethestove,
keeponreadingabook.
Youstealmytelephonewires,
orsomeonedoes.Youstarve
yourhorseandyourself
andyourdogsandfamily.
amongendlessvariety,
youeatboiledcabbagestalks.
AndonceIyelledatyou
soloudtohurryup
andfetchmethosepotatoes
yourholeyhatflewoff,
youjumpedoutofyourclogs,
leavingthreeobjectsarranged
inatriangleatmyfeet,
asifyou'dbeenagardener
inafairytaleallthistime
andattheword"potatoes"
43
hadvanishedtotakeupyourwork
offairyprincesomewhere.
Thestrangestthingshappentoyou.
Yourcowseatsa"poisongrass"
anddropsdeadonthespot.
Nobodyelse'sdoes.
Andthenyourfatherdies,
asuperioroldman
withablackplushhat,andamoustache
likeawhitespread-eagledseagull.
Thefamilygathers,butyou,
no,you"don'tthinkhe'sdead!
Ilookathim.He'scold.
They'reburyinghimtoday.
Butyouknow,Idon'tthinkhe'sdead."
Igiveyoumoneyforthefuneral
andyougoandhireabus
forthedelightedmourners,
soIhavetohandoversomemore
andthenhavetohearyoutellme
youprayformeeverynight!
Andthenyoucomeagain,
sniffingandshivering,
hatinhand,withthatwistful
face,likeachild'sfistful
ofbluetsorwhiteviolets,
improvidentasthedawn,
andoncemoreIprovide
forashotofpenicillin
downatthepharmacy,or
onemorebottleof
ElectricalBabySyrup.
Or,briskly,youcometosettle
whatwecallour"accounts,"
withtwooldcopybooks,
onewithflowersonthecover,
theotherwithacamel.
immediateconfusion.
You'veleftoutdecimalpoints.
Yourcolumnsstagger,
honeycombedwithzeros.
Youwhisperconspiratorially;
thenumbersmounttomillions.
Accountbooks?TheyareDreamBooks.
inthekitchenwedreamtogether
howthemeekshallinherittheearth
orseveralacresofmine.
Withbluesugarbagsontheirheads,
carryingyourlunch,
44
yourchildrenscuttlebyme
likelittlemolesaboveground,
orevencrouchbehindbushes
asifIwereouttoshootthem!
Impossibletomakefriends,
thougheachwillgrabatonce
foranorangeorapieceofcandy.
Twinedinwispsoffog,
Iseeyouallupthere
alongwithFormoso,thedonkey,
whobrayslikeapumpgonedry,
thensuddenlystops.
Alljuststanding,staring
offintofogandspace.
Orcomingdownatnight,
insilence,exceptforhoofs,
indimmoonlight,thehorse
orFormosostumblingafter.
Betweenusfloatafew
big,soft,pale-blue,
sluggishfireflies,
thejellyfishoftheair...
Patchuponpatchuponpatch,
yourwifekeepsallofyoucovered.
Shehasgoneoverandover
(forearmedisforewarned)
yourpairofbright-bluepants
withwhitethread,andthesedays
yourlimbsaredrapedinblueprints.
Youpaintheavenknowswhy
theoutsideofthecrown
andbrimofyourstrawhat.
Perhapstoreflectthesun?
Orperhapswhenyouweresmall,
yourmothersaid,"Manuelzinho,
onething;besureyoualways
paintyourstrawhat."
Onewasgoldforawhile,
butthegoldworeoff,likeplate.
Onewasbrightgreen.Unkindly,
IcalledyouKlorophyllKid.
Myvisitorsthoughtitwasfunny.
Iapologizehereandnow.
Youhelpless,foolishman,
IloveyouallIcan,
Ithink.OrIdo?
Itakeoffmyhat,unpainted
andfigurative,toyou.
AgainIpromisetotry.
45
ElizabethBishop
46
North Haven
InMemoriam:RobertLowell
Icanmakeouttheriggingofaschooner
amileoff;Icancount
thenewconesonthespruce.Itissostill
thepalebaywearsamilkyskin;thesky
nocloudsexceptforonelong,cardedhorsestail.
Theislandshaven'tshiftedsincelastsummer,
evenifIliketopretendtheyhave-drifting,inadreamysortofway,
alittlenorth,alittlesouth,orsidewise-andthattheyrefreewithinthebluefrontiersofbay.
Thismonthourfavoriteoneisfullofflowers:
buttercups,redclover,purplevetch,
hackweedstillburning,daisiespied,eyebright,
thefragrantbedstraw'sincandescentstars,
andmore,returned,topaintthemeadowswithdelight.
Thegoldfinchesareback,orotherslikethem,
andthewhite-throatedsparrow'sfive-notesong,
pleadingandpleading,bringstearstotheeyes.
Naturerepeatsherself,oralmostdoes:
repeat,repeat,repeat;revise,revise,revise.
Yearsago,youtoldmeitwashere
(in1932?)youfirst"discoveredgirls"
andlearnedtosail,andlearnedtokiss.
Youhad"suchfun,"yousaid,thatclassicsummer.
("Fun"--italwaysseemedtoleaveyouataloss...)
YouleftNorthHaven,anchoredinitsrock,
afloatinmysticblue...Andnow--you'veleft
forgood.Youcan'tderange,orrearrange,
yourpoemsagain.(Butthesparrowscantheirsong.)
Thewordswon'tchangeagain.Sadfriend,youcannotchange.
ElizabethBishop
47
O breath
Beneaththatlovedandcelebratedbreast,
silent,boredreallyblindlyveined,
grieves,maybelivesandlets
live,passesbets,
somethingmovingbutinvisibly,
andwithwhatclamorwhyrestrained
Icannotfathomevenaripple.
(Seethethinflyingofnineblackhairs
fouraroundonefivetheothernipple,
flyingalmostintolerablyonyourownbreath.)
Equivocal,butwhatwehaveincommon'sboundtobethere,
whateverwemustownequivalentsfor,
somethingthatmaybeIcouldbargainwith
andmakeaseparatepeacebeneath
withinifneverwith.
ElizabethBishop
48
One Art
Theartoflosingisn'thardtomaster;
somanythingsseemfilledwiththeintent
tobelostthattheirlossisnodisaster,
Losesomethingeveryday.Acceptthefluster
oflostdoorkeys,thehourbadlyspent.
Theartoflosingisn'thardtomaster.
Thenpracticelosingfarther,losingfaster:
places,andnames,andwhereitwasyoumeant
totravel.Noneofthesewillbringdisaster.
Ilostmymother'swatch.Andlook!mylast,or
next-to-last,ofthreebelovedhouseswent.
Theartoflosingisn'thardtomaster.
Ilosttwocities,lovelyones.And,vaster,
somerealmsIowned,tworivers,acontinent.
Imissthem,butitwasn'tadisaster.
-Evenlosingyou(thejokingvoice,agesture
Ilove)Ishan'thavelied.It'sevident
theartoflosing'snottoohardtomaster
thoughitmaylooklike(Writeit!)likeadisaster.
ElizabethBishop
49
Poem
Aboutthesizeofanold-styledollarbill,
AmericanorCanadian,
mostlythesamewhites,graygreens,andsteelgrays
-thislittlepainting(asketchforalargerone?)
hasneverearnedanymoneyinitslife.
Uselessandfree.,ithasspentseventyyears
asaminorfamilyrelichandedalongcollaterallytoowners
wholookedatitsometimes,ordidn'tbotherto.
ItmustbeNovaScotia;onlythere
doesoneseeabledwoodenhouses
paintedthatawfulshadeofbrown.
Theotherhouses,thebitsthatshow,arewhite.
Elmtrees.,lowhills,athinchurchsteeple
-thatgray-bluewisp-orisit?Intheforeground
awatermeadowwithsometinycows,
twobrushstrokeseach,butconfidentlycows;
twominusculewhitegeeseinthebluewater,
back-to-back,,feeding,andaslantingstick.
Upcloser,awildiris,whiteandyellow,
fresh-squiggledfromthetube.
Theairisfreshandcold;coldearlyspring
clearasgrayglass;ahalfinchofbluesky
belowthesteel-graystormclouds.
(Theyweretheartist'sspecialty.)
Aspecklikebirdisflyingtotheleft.
Orisitaflyspecklookinglikeabird?
Heavens,Irecognizetheplace,Iknowit!
It'sbehind-Icanalmostrememberthefarmer'sname.
Hisbarnbackedonthatmeadow.Thereitis,
titaniumwhite,onedab.Thehintofsteeple,
filamentsofbrush-hairs,barelythere,
mustbethePresbyterianchurch.
WouldthatbeMissGillespie'shouse?
Thoseparticulargeeseandcows
arenaturallybeforemytime.
Asketchdoneinanhour,"inonebreath,"
oncetakenfromatrunkandhandedover.
Wouldyoulikethis?I'llProbablynever
haveroomtohangthesethingsagain.
YourUncleGeorge,no,mine,myUncleGeorge,
he'dbeyourgreat-uncle,leftthemallwithMother
whenhewentbacktoEngland.
Youknow,hewasquitefamous,anR.A....
Ineverknewhim.Webothknewthisplace,
apparently,thisliteralsmallbackwater,
lookedatitlongenoughtomemorizeit,
ouryearsapart.Howstrange.Andit'sstillloved,
oritsmemoryis(itmusthavechangedalot).
50
Ourvisionscoincided-"visions"is
tooseriousaword-ourlooks,twolooks:
art"copyingfromlife"andlifeitself,
lifeandthememoryofitsocompressed
they'veturnedintoeachother.Whichiswhich?
Lifeandthememoryofitcramped,
dim,onapieceofBristolboard,
dim,buthowlive,howtouchingindetail
-thelittlethatwegetforfree,
thelittleofourearthlytrust.Notmuch.
Aboutthesizeofourabidance
alongwiththeirs:themunchingcows,
theiris,crispandshivering,thewater
stillstandingfromspringfreshets,
theyet-to-be-dismantledelms,thegeese.
ElizabethBishop
51
Questions of Travel
Therearetoomanywaterfallshere;thecrowdedstreams
hurrytoorapidlydowntothesea,
andthepressureofsomanycloudsonthemountaintops
makesthemspilloverthesidesinsoftslow-motion,
turningtowaterfallsunderourveryeyes.
--Forifthosestreaks,thosemile-long,shiny,tearstains,
aren'twaterfallsyet,
inaquickageorso,asagesgohere,
theyprobablywillbe.
Butifthestreamsandcloudskeeptravelling,travelling,
themountainslooklikethehullsofcapsizedships,
slime-hungandbarnacled.
Thinkofthelongtriphome.
Shouldwehavestayedathomeandthoughtofhere?
Whereshouldwebetoday?
Isitrighttobewatchingstrangersinaplay
inthisstrangestoftheatres?
Whatchildishnessisitthatwhilethere'sabreathoflife
inourbodies,wearedeterminedtorush
toseethesuntheotherwayaround?
Thetiniestgreenhummingbirdintheworld?
Tostareatsomeinexplicableoldstonework,
inexplicableandimpenetrable,
atanyview,
instantlyseenandalways,alwaysdelightful?
Oh,mustwedreamourdreams
andhavethem,too?
Andhaveweroom
foronemorefoldedsunset,stillquitewarm?
Butsurelyitwouldhavebeenapity
nottohaveseenthetreesalongthisroad,
reallyexaggeratedintheirbeauty,
nottohaveseenthemgesturing
likenoblepantomimists,robedinpink.
--Nottohavehadtostopforgasandheard
thesad,two-noted,woodentune
ofdisparatewoodenclogs
carelesslyclackingover
agrease-stainedfilling-stationfloor.
(Inanothercountrytheclogswouldallbetested.
Eachpairtherewouldhaveidenticalpitch.)
--Apitynottohaveheard
theother,lessprimitivemusicofthefatbrownbird
whosingsabovethebrokengasolinepump
inabamboochurchofJesuitbaroque:
threetowers,fivesilvercrosses.
--Yes,apitynottohavepondered,
blurr'dlyandinconclusively,
onwhatconnectioncanexistforcenturies
betweenthecrudestwoodenfootwear
52
and,carefulandfinicky,
thewhittledfantasiesofwoodenfootwear
and,carefulandfinicky,
thewhittledfantasiesofwoodencages.
--Nevertohavestudiedhistoryin
theweakcalligraphyofsongbirds'cages.
--Andnevertohavehadtolistentorain
somuchlikepoliticians'speeches:
twohoursofunrelentingoratory
andthenasuddengoldensilence
inwhichthetravellertakesanotebook,writes:
"Isitlackofimaginationthatmakesuscome
toimaginedplaces,notjuststayathome?
OrcouldPascalhavebeennotentirelyright
aboutjustsittingquietlyinone'sroom?
Continent,city,country,society:
thechoiceisneverwideandneverfree.
Andhere,orthere...No.Shouldwehavestayedathome,
whereverthatmaybe?"
ElizabethBishop
53
Rain Towards Morning

Thegreatlightcagehasbrokenupintheair,
freeing,Ithink,aboutamillionbirds
whosewildascendingshadowswillnotbeback,
andallthewirescomefallingdown.
Nocage,nofrighteningbirds;therain
isbrighteningnow.Thefaceispale
thattriedthepuzzleoftheirprison
andsolveditwithanunexpectedkiss,
whosefreckledunsuspectedhandsalit.
ElizabethBishop
54
Roosters
Atfouro'clock
inthegun-metalbluedark
wehearthefirstcrowofthefirstcock
justbelow
thegun-metalbluewindow
andimmediatelythereisanecho
offinthedistance,
thenonefromthebackyardfence,
thenone,withhorribleinsistence,
grateslikeawetmatch
fromthebroccolipatch,
flares,andallovertownbeginstocatch.
Criesgalore
comefromthewater-closetdoor,
fromthedropping-plasteredhenhousefloor,
whereintheblueblur
theirrustingwivesadmire,
theroostersbracetheircruelfeetandglare
withstupideyes
whilefromtheirbeaksthererise
theuncontrolled,traditionalcries.
Deepfromprotrudingchests
ingreen-goldmedalsdressed,
plannedtocommandandterrorizetherest,
themanywives
wholeadhens'lives
ofbeingcourtedanddespised;
deepfromrawthroats
asenselessorderfloats
allovertown.Aroostergloats
overourbeds
fromrustyironssheds
andfencesmadefromoldbedsteads,
overourchurches
wherethetinroosterperches,
overourlittlewoodennorthernhouses,
makingsallies
fromallthemuddyalleys,
markingoutmapslikeRandMcNally's:
55
glass-headedpins,
oil-goldsandcoppergreens,
anthraciteblues,alizarins,
eachoneanactive
displacementinperspective;
eachscreaming,"ThisiswhereIlive!"
Eachscreaming
"Getup!Stopdreaming!"
Roosters,whatareyouprojecting?
You,whomtheGreekselected
toshootatonapost,whostruggled
whensacrificed,youwhomtheylabeled
"Verycombative..."
whatrighthaveyoutogive
commandsandtellushowtolive,
cry"Here!"and"Here!"
andwakeusherewhereare
unwantedlove,conceitandwar?
Thecrownofred
setonyourlittlehead
ischargedwithallyourfightingblood
Yes,thatexcrescence
makesamostvirilepresence,
plusallthatvulgarbeautyofiridescence
Nowinmid-air
bytwotheyfighteachother.
Downcomesafirstflame-feather,
andoneisflying,
withragingheroismdefying
eventhesensationofdying.
Andonehasfallen
butstillabovethetown
historn-out,bloodiedfeathersdriftdown;
andwhathesung
nomatter.Heisflung
onthegrayash-heap,liesindung
withhisdeadwives
withopen,bloodyeyes,
whilethosemetallicfeathersoxidize.
56
St.Peter'ssin
wasworsethanthatofMagdalen
whosesinwasofthefleshalone;
ofspirit,Peter's,
falling,beneaththeflares,
amongthe"servantsandofficers."
Oldholysculpture
couldsetitalltogether
inonesmallscene,pastandfuture:
Christstandsamazed,
Peter,twofingersraised
tosurprisedlips,bothasifdazed.
Butinbetween
alittlecockisseen
carvedonadimcolumninthetravertine,
explainedbygalluscanit;
fletPetrusunderneathit,
Thereisinescapablehope,thepivot;
yes,andtherePeter'stears
rundownourchanticleer's
sidesandgemhisspurs.
Tear-encrustedthick
asamedievalrelic
hewaits.PoorPeter,heart-sick,
stillcannotguess
thosecock-a-doodlesyetmightbless,
hisdreadfulroostercometomeanforgiveness,
anewweathervane
onbasilicaandbarn,
andthatoutsidetheLateran
therewouldalwaysbe
abronzecockonaporphyry
pillarsothepeopleandthePopemightsee
thateventthePrince
oftheApostleslongsince
hadbeenforgiven,andtoconvince
alltheassembly
that"Denydenydeny"
isnotalltheroosterscry.
57
Inthemorning
alowlightisfloating
inthebackyard,andgilding
fromunderneath
thebroccoli,leafbyleaf;
howcouldthenighthavecometogrief?
gildingthetiny
floatingswallow'sbelly
andlinesofpinkcloudinthesky,
theday'spreamble
likewanderinglinesinmarble,
Thecocksarenowalmostinaudible.
Thesunclimbsin,
following"toseetheend,"
faithfulasenemy,orfriend.
ElizabethBishop
58
Sandpiper
Theroaringalongsidehetakesforgranted,
andthateverysooftentheworldisboundtoshake.
Heruns,herunstothesouth,finical,awkward,
inastateofcontrolledpanic,astudentofBlake.
Thebeachhisseslikefat.Onhisleft,asheet
ofinterruptingwatercomesandgoes
andglazesoverhisdarkandbrittlefeet.
Heruns,herunsstraightthroughit,watchinghistoes.
-Watching,rather,thespacesofsandbetweenthem
where(nodetailtoosmall)theAtlanticdrains
rapidlybackwardsanddownwards.Asheruns,
hestaresatthedragginggrains.
Theworldisamist.Andthentheworldis
minuteandvastandclear.Thetide
ishigherorlower.Hecouldn'ttellyouwhich.
Hisbeakisfocussed;heispreoccupied,
lookingforsomething,something,something.
Poorbird,heisobsessed!
Themillionsofgrainsareblack,white,tan,andgray
mixedwithquartzgrains,roseandamethyst.
ElizabethBishop
59
Seascape
Thiscelestialseascape,withwhiteheronsgotupasangels,
flyinghighastheywantandasfarastheywantsidewise
intiersandtiersofimmaculatereflections;
thewholeregion,fromthehighestheron
downtotheweightlessmangroveisland
withbrightgreenleavesedgedneatlywithbird-droppings
likeilluminationinsilver,
anddowntothesuggestivelyGothicarchesofthemangroveroots
andthebeautifulpea-greenback-pasture
whereoccasionallyafishjumps,likeawildflower
inanornamentalsprayofspray;
thiscartoonbyRaphaelforatapestryforaPope:
itdoeslooklikeheaven.
Butaskeletallighthousestandingthere
inblackandwhiteclericaldress,
wholivesonhisnerves,thinksheknowsbetter.
Hethinksthathellragesbelowhisironfeet,
thatthatiswhytheshallowwaterissowarm,
andheknowsthatheavenisnotlikethis.
Heavenisnotlikeflyingorswimming,
buthassomethingtodowithblacknessandastrongglare
andwhenitgetsdarkhewillremembersomething
stronglywordedtosayonthesubject.
ElizabethBishop
60
Sestina
Septemberrainfallsonthehouse.
Inthefailinglight,theoldgrandmother
sitsinthekitchenwiththechild
besidetheLittleMarvelStove,
readingthejokesfromthealmanac,
laughingandtalkingtohidehertears.
Shethinksthatherequinoctialtears
andtherainthatbeatsontheroofofthehouse
werebothforetoldbythealmanac,
butonlyknowntoagrandmother.
Theironkettlesingsonthestove.
Shecutssomebreadandsaystothechild,
It'stimeforteanow;butthechild
iswatchingtheteakettle'ssmallhardtears
dancelikemadonthehotblackstove,
thewaytherainmustdanceonthehouse.
Tidyingup,theoldgrandmother
hangsupthecleveralmanac
onitsstring.Birdlike,thealmanac
hovershalfopenabovethechild,
hoversabovetheoldgrandmother
andherteacupfullofdarkbrowntears.
Sheshiversandsaysshethinksthehouse
feelschilly,andputsmorewoodinthestove.
Itwastobe,saystheMarvelStove.
IknowwhatIknow,saysthealmanac.
Withcrayonsthechilddrawsarigidhouse
andawindingpathway.Thenthechild
putsinamanwithbuttonsliketears
andshowsitproudlytothegrandmother.
Butsecretly,whilethegrandmother
busiesherselfaboutthestove,
thelittlemoonsfalldownliketears
frombetweenthepagesofthealmanac
intotheflowerbedthechild
hascarefullyplacedinthefrontofthehouse.
Timetoplanttears,saysthealmanac.
Thegrandmothersingstothemarvelousstove
andthechilddrawsanotherinscrutablehouse.
ElizabethBishop
61
Sleeping on the Ceiling

Itissopeacefulontheceiling!
ItisthePlacedelaConcorde.
Thelittlecrystalchandelier
isoff,thefountainisinthedark.
Notasoulisinthepark.
Below,wherethewallpaperispeeling,
theJardindesPlanteshaslockeditsgates.
Thosephotographsareanimals.
Themightyflowersandfoliagerustle;
undertheleavestheinsectstunnel.
Wemustgounderthewallpaper
tomeettheinsect-gladiator,
tobattlewithanetandtrident,
andleavethefountainandthesquare
Butoh,thatwecouldsleepupthere...
ElizabethBishop
62
Song for the Rainy Season

Hidden,ohhidden
inthehighfog
thehousewelivein,
beneaththemagneticrock,
rain-,rainbow-ridden,
whereblood-black
bromelias,lichens,
owls,andthelint
ofthewaterfallscling,
familiar,unbidden.
Inadimage
ofwater
thebrooksingsloud
fromaribcage
ofgiantfern;vapor
climbsupthethickgrowth
effortlessly,turnsback,
holdingthemboth,
houseandrock,
inaprivatecloud.
Atnight,ontheroof,
blinddropscrawl
andtheordinarybrown
owlgivesusproof
hecancount:
fivetimes--alwaysfive-hestampsandtakesoff
afterthefatfrogsthat,
shrillingforlove,
clamberandmount.
House,openhouse
tothewhitedew
andthemilk-whitesunrise
kindtotheeyes,
tomembership
ofsilverfish,mouse,
bookworms,
bigmoths;withawall
forthemildew's
ignorantmap;
darkenedandtarnished
bythewarmtouch
ofthewarmbreath,
maculate,cherished;
rejoice!Foralater
erawilldiffer.
(Odifferencethatkills
orintimidates,much
63
ofalloursmallshadowy
life!)Withoutwater
thegreatrockwillstare
unmagnetized,bare,
nolongerwearing
rainbowsorrain,
theforgivingair
andthehighfoggone;
theowlswillmoveon
andtheseveral
waterfallsshrivel
inthesteadysun.
ElizabethBishop
64
Songs for a Colored Singer

I
Awashinghangsupontheline,
butit'snotmine.
NoneofthethingsthatIcansee
belongtome.
Theneighborsgotaradiowithanaerial;
wegotalittleportable.
Theygotalotofclosetspace;
wegotasuitcase.
Isay,"LeRoy,justhowmuchareweowing?
SomethingIcan'tcomprehend,
themorewegotthemorewespend...."
Heonlyanswers,"Let'sgetgoing."
LeRoy,you'reearningtoomuchmoneynow.
Isitandlookatourbackyard
andfinditveryhard.
Whathavewegotforallhisdollarsandcents?
--Apileofbottlesbythefence.
He'sfaithfulandhe'skind
buthesurehasaninquiringmind.
He'sseenalot;he'sboundtoseetherest,
andifIprotest
LeRoyanswerswithafrown,
"Darling,whenIearnsIspends.
Theworldiswide;itstillextends....
I'mgoingtogetajobinthenexttown."
LeRoy,you'reearningtoomuchmoneynow.
II
Thetimehascometocallahalt;
andsoitends.
He'sgoneoffwithhisotherfriends.
Heneedn'ttrytomakeamends,
thisoccasion'sallhisfault.
ThroughrainanddarkIseehisface
acrossthestreetatFlossie'splace.
He'sdrinkinginthewarmpinkglow
toth'accompanimentofthepiccolo.
Thetimehascometocallahalt.
ImethimwalkingwithVarella
andhithimtwicewithmyumbrella.
Perhapsthatoccasionwasmyfault,
butthetimehascometocallahalt.
Godrinkyourwineandgogettight.
Letthepiccoloplay.
65
I'msickofallyourfussinganyway.
NowI'mpursuingmyownway.
I'mleavingonthebustonight.
Fardownthehighwaywetandblack
I'llrideandrideandnotcomeback.
I'mgoingtogoandtakethebus
andfindsomeonemonogamous.
I'veborrowedfifteendollarsfare
anditwilltakemeanywhere.
Forthisoccasion'sallhisfault.
III
Lullaby.
Adultandchild
sinktotheirrest.
Atseathebigshipsinksanddies,
leadinitsbreast.
Lullaby.
Letmationsrage,
letnationsfall.
Theshadowofthecribmakesanenormouscage
uponthewall.
Lullaby.
Sleeponandon,
war'soversoon.
Dropthesilly,harmlesstoy,
pickupthemoon.
Lullaby.
Iftheyshouldsay
youhavenosense,
don'tyoumindthem;itwon'tmake
muchdifference.
Lullaby.
Adultandchild
sinktotheirrest.
Atseathebigshipsinksanddies,
leadinitsbreast.
IV
What'sthatshiningintheleaves,
theshadowyleaves,
liketearswhensomebodygrieves,
shining,shiningintheleaves?
66
Isitdeworisittears,
dewortears,
hangingthereforyearsandyears
likeaheavydewoftears?
Thenthatdewbeginstofall,
rolldownandfall,
Maybeit'snottearsatall.
Seeit,seeitrollandfall.
Hearitfallingontheground,
hear,allaround.
Thatisnotatearfulsound,
beating,beatingontheground.
Seeitlyingtherelikeseeds,
likeblackseeds.
seeittakingrootlikeweeds,
faster,fasterthantheweeds,
alltheshiningseedstakeroot,
conspiringroot,
andwhatcuriousflowerorfruit
willgrowfromthatconspiringroot?
fruitorflower?Itisaface.
Yes,aface.
Inthatdarkanddrearyplace
eachseedgrowsintoaface.
Likeanarmyinadream
thefacesseem,
darker,darker,likeadream.
They'retoorealtobeadream.
ElizabethBishop
67
Sonnet
Overmyfretful,feelingfinger-tips,
ElizabethBishop
68
Sonnet (1928)
Overmyfretful,feelingfinger-tips,
ElizabethBishop
69
Sonnet (1979)
Caught--thebubble
inthespiritlevel,
acreaturedivided;
andthecompassneedle
wobblingandwavering,
undecided.
Freed--thebroken
thermometer'smercury
runningaway;
andtherainbow-bird
fromthenarrowbevel
oftheemptymirror,
flyingwherever
itfeelslike,gay!
ElizabethBishop
70
Squatter's Children
Ontheunbreathingsidesofhills
theyplay,aspecklikegirlandboy,
alone,butnearaspecklikehouse.
TheSun'ssuspendedeye
blinkscasually,andthentheywade
giganticwavesoflightandshade.
Adancingyellowspot,apup,
attendsthem.Cloudsarepilingup;
astormpilesupbehindthehouse.
Thechildrenplayatdiggingholes.
Thegroundishard;theytrytouse
oneoftheirfather'stools,
amattockwithabrokenhaft
thetwoofthemcanscarcelylift.
Itdropsandclangs.Theirlaughterspreads
effulgenceinthethunderheads,
Weakflashesofinquiry
directasisthepuppy'sbark.
Buttotheirlittle,soluble,
unwarrantableark,
apparentlytherain'sreply
consistsofecholalia,
andMother'svoice,uglyassin,
keepscallingtothemtocomein.
Children,thethresholdofthestorm
hasslidbeneathyourmuddyshoes;
wetandbeguiled,youstandamong
themansionsyoumaychoose
outofabiggerhousethanyours,
whoselawfulnessendures.
It'ssoggydocumentsretain
yourrightsinroomsoffallingrain.
ElizabethBishop
71
Strayed Crab
Thisisnotmyhome.HowdidIgetsofarfromwater?Itmust
beoverthatwaysomewhere.
Iamthecolorofwine,oftinta.Theinsideofmypowerful
rightclawissaffron-yellow.See,Iseeitnow;Iwaveitlikea
flag.Iamdapperandelegant;Imovewithgreatprecision,
cleverlymanagingallmysmalleryellowclaws.Ibelieveinthe
oblique,theindirectapproach,andIkeepmyfeelingstomyself.
Butonthisstrange,smoothsurfaceIammakingtoomuch
noise.Iwasn'tmeantforthis.IfImaneuverabitandkeepa
sharplookout,Ishallfindmypoolagain.Watchoutformyright
claw,allpassersby!Thisplaceistoohard.Therainhasstopped,
anditisdamp,butstillnotwetenoughtopleaseme.
Myeyesaregood,thoughsmall;myshellistoughandtight.
Inmyownpoolaremanysmallgrayfish.Iseerightthrough
them.Onlytheirlargeeyesareopaque,andtwitchatme.They
arehardtocatchbutI,Icatchthemquicklyinmyarmsand
eatthemup.
Whatisthatbigsoftmonster,likeayellowcloud,stifling
andwarm?Whatisitdoing?Itpatsmyback.Out,claw.There,
Ihavefrighteneditaway.It'ssittingdown,pretendingnothing's
happened.I'llskirtit.It'sstillpretendingnottoseeme.Outof
myway,Omonster.Iownapool,allthelittlefishthatswiminit,
andalltheskitteringwaterbugsthatsmelllikerottenapples.
Cheerup,Ogrievoussnail.Itapyourshell,encouragingly,
notthatyouwilleverknowaboutit.
AndIwantnothingtodowithyou,either,sulkingtoad.
Imagine,atleastfourtimesmysizeandyetsovulnerable...I
couldopenyourbellywithmyclaw.Youglareandbulge,a
watchdognearmypool;youmakealoudandhollownoise.I
donotcareforsuchstupidity.Iadmirecompression,lightness,
andagility,allrareinthislooseworld.
ElizabethBishop
72
Suicide of a Moderate Dictator

Thisisadaywhentruthswillout,perhaps;
leakfromthedanglingtelephoneearphones
sappingthefestoonedswitchboards'strength;
fallfromthewindows,blowfromoffthesills,
thevague,slightunremarkablecontents
ofemptyingash-trays;ruboffonourfingers
likeinkfromtheun-proof-readnewspapers,
crockingthewaytheunfocusedphotographs
ofcrookedfacesdothatsoilourcoats,
ourtropical-weightcoats,likeslapped-atmoths.
Today'sadaywhenthosewhowork
areidling.Thosewhoplayedmustwork
andhurry,too,togetitdone,
withlittledignityornone.
Thenewspapersaresold;thekioskshutters
crashdown.Butanyway,inthenight
theheadlineswrotethemselves,see,onthestreets
andsidewalkseverywhere;asediment'ssplashed
eventothefirstfloorsofapartmenthouses.
Thisisadaythat'sbeautifulaswell,
andwarmandclear.Atseveno'clockIsaw
thedogsbeingwalkedalongthefamousbeach
asusual,inashinygray-greendawn,
leavingtheirpawprintsdraininginthewet.
Thelineofbreakerswassteadyandthepinkish,
segmentedrainbowsteadilyhungaboveit.
Ateighttwolittleboyswereflyingkites.
ElizabethBishop
73
The Armadillo
ForRobertLowell
Thisisthetimeofyear
whenalmosteverynight
thefrail,illegalfireballoonsappear.
Climbingthemountainheight,
risingtowardasaint
stillhonoredintheseparts,
thepaperchambersflushandfillwithlight
thatcomesandgoes,likehearts.
Onceupagainsttheskyit'shard
totellthemfromthestars-planets,thatis--thetintedones:
Venusgoingdown,orMars,
orthepalegreenone.Withawind,
theyflareandfalter,wobbleandtoss;
butifit'sstilltheysteerbetween
thekitesticksoftheSouthernCross,
receding,dwindling,solemnly
andsteadilyforsakingus,
or,inthedowndraftfromapeak,
suddenlyturningdangerous.
Lastnightanotherbigonefell.
Itsplatteredlikeaneggoffire
againstthecliffbehindthehouse.
Theflamerandown.Wesawthepair
ofowlswhonestthereflyingup
andup,theirwhirlingblack-and-white
stainedbrightpinkunderneath,until
theyshriekedupoutofsight.
Theancientowls'nestmusthaveburned.
Hastily,allalone,
aglisteningarmadilloleftthescene,
rose-flecked,headdown,taildown,
andthenababyrabbitjumpedout,
short-eared,tooursurprise.
Sosoft!--ahandfulofintangibleash
withfixed,ignitedeyes.
Toopretty,dreamlikemimicry!Ofallingfireandpiercingcryandpanic,
andaweakmailedfistclenchedignorantagainstthesky!
ElizabethBishop
74
The Bight
Atlowtidelikethishowsheerthewateris.
White,crumblingribsofmarlprotrudeandglare
andtheboatsaredry,thepilingsdryasmatches.
Absorbing,ratherthanbeingabsorbed,
thewaterinthebightdoesn'twetanything,
thecolorofthegasflameturnedaslowaspossible.
Onecansmellitturningtogas;ifonewereBaudelaire
onecouldprobablyhearitturningtomarimbamusic.
Thelittleocherdredgeatworkofftheendofthedock
alreadyplaysthedryperfectlyoff-beatclaves.
Thebirdsareoutsize.Pelicanscrash
intothispeculiargasunnecessarilyhard,
itseemstome,likepickaxes,
rarelycomingupwithanythingtoshowforit,
andgoingoffwithhumorouselbowings.
Black-and-whiteman-of-warbirdssoar
onimpalpabledrafts
andopentheirtailslikescissorsonthecurves
ortensethemlikewishbones,tilltheytremble.
Thefrowsyspongeboatskeepcomingin
withtheobligingairofretrievers,
bristlingwithjackstrawgaffsandhooks
anddecoratedwithbobblesofsponges.
Thereisafenceofchickenwirealongthedock
where,glintinglikelittleplowshares,
theblue-graysharktailsarehunguptodry
fortheChinese-restauranttrade.
Someofthelittlewhiteboatsarestillpiledup
againsteachother,orlieontheirsides,stovein,
andnotyetsalvaged,iftheyeverwillbe,fromthelastbadstorm,
liketorn-open,unansweredletters.
Thebightislitteredwitholdcorrespondences.
Click.Click.Goesthedredge,
andbringsupadrippingjawfulofmarl.
Alltheuntidyactivitycontinues,
awfulbutcheerful.
ElizabethBishop
75
The Burglar Of Babylon

OnthefairgreenhillsofRio
Theregrowsafearfulstain:
ThepoorwhocometoRio
Andcan'tgohomeagain.
Onthehillsamillionpeople,
Amillionsparrows,nest,
Likeaconfusedmigration
That'shadtolightandrest,
Buildingitsnests,orhouses,
Outofnothingatall,orair.
You'dthinkabreathwouldendthem,
Theyperchsolightlythere.
Buttheyclingandspreadlikelichen,
Andpeoplecomeandcome.
There'sonehillcalledtheChicken,
AndonecalledCatacomb;
There'sthehillofKerosene,
AndthehillofSkeleton,
ThehillofAstonishment,
AndthehillofBabylon.
Micuçúwasaburglarandkiller,
Anenemyofsociety.
Hehadescapedthreetimes
Fromtheworstpenitentiary.
Theydon'tknowhowmanyhemurdered
(Thoughtheysayheneverraped),
Andhewoundedtwopolicemen
Thislasttimeheescaped.
Theysaid,"He'llgotohisauntie,
Whoraisedhimlikeason.
Shehasalittledrinkshop
OnthehillofBabylon."
Hedidgostraighttohisauntie,
Andhedrankafinalbeer.
Hetoldher,"Thesoldiersarecoming,
AndI'vegottodisappear."
"Ninetyyearstheygaveme.
Whowantstolivethatlong?
I'llsettleforninetyhours,
OnthehillofBabylon.
"Don'ttellanyoneyousawme.
I'llrunaslongasIcan.
76
Youweregoodtome,andIloveyou,
ButI'madoomedman."
Goingout,hemetamulata
Carryingwateronherhead.
"Ifyousayyousawme,daughter,
You'reasgoodasdead."
Therearecavesupthere,andhideouts,
Andanoldfort,fallingdown.
TheyusedtowatchforFrenchmen
FromthehillofBabylon.
Belowhimwastheocean.
Itreachedfarupthesky,
Flatasawall,andonit
Werefreighterspassingby,
Orclimbingthewall,andclimbing
Tilleachlookedlikeafly,
Andthenfelloverandvanished;
Andheknewhewasgoingtodie.
Hecouldhearthegoatsbaa-baa-ing.
Hecouldhearthebabiescry;
Flutteringkitesstrainedupward;
Andheknewhewasgoingtodie.
Abuzzardflappedsonearhim
Hecouldseeitsnakedneck.
Hewavedhisarmsandshouted,
"Notyet,myson,notyet!"
AnArmyhelicopter
Camenosingaroundandin.
Hecouldseetwomeninsideit,
buttheyneverspottedhim.
Thesoldierswereallover,
Onallsidesofthehill,
Andrightagainsttheskyline
Arowofthem,smallandstill.
Childrenpeekedoutofwindows,
Andmeninthedrinkshopswore,
Andspatalittlecachaça
Atthelightcracksinthefloor.
Butthesoldierswerenervous,even
withtommygunsinhand,
Andoneofthem,inapanic,
Shottheofficerincommand.
77
Hehithiminthreeplaces;
Theothershotswentwild.
Thesoldierhadhysterics
Andsobbedlikealittlechild.
Thedyingmansaid,"Finish
Thejobwecameherefor."
hecommittedhissoultoGod
AndhissonstotheGovernor.
Theyranandgotapriest,
AndhediedinhopeofHeaven
--AmanfromPernambuco,
Theyoungestofeleven.
Theywantedtostopthesearch,
buttheArmysaid,"No,goon,"
Sothesoldiersswarmedagain
UpthehillofBabylon.
Richpeopleinapartments
Watchedthroughbinoculars
Aslongasthedaylightlasted.
Andallnight,underthestars,
Micuçúhidinthegrasses
Orsatinalittletree,
Listeningforsounds,andstaring
Atthelighthouseoutatsea.
Andthelighthousestaredbackathim,
tilfinallyitwasdawn.
Hewassoakedwithdew,andhungry,
OnthehillofBabylon.
Theyellowsunwasugly,
Likearaweggonaplate-Slickfromthesea.Hecursedit,
Forheknewitsealedhisfate.
Hesawthelongwhitebeaches
Andpeoplegoingtoswim,
Withtowelsandbeachumbrellas,
Butthesoldierswereafterhim.
Far,farbelow,thepeople
Werelittlecoloredspots,
Andtheheadsofthoseinswimming
Werefloatingcoconuts.
Heheardthepeanutvendor
78
Gopeep-peeponhiswhistle,
Andthemanthatsellsumbrellas
Swinginghiswatchman'srattle.
Womenwithmarketbaskets
Stoodonthecornersandtalked,
Thenwentontheirwaytomarket,
Gazingupastheywalked.
Therichwiththeirbinoculars
Werebackagain,andmany
Werestandingontherooftops,
AmongTVantennae.
Itwasearly,eightoreight-thirty.
Hesawasoldierclimb,
Lookingrightathim.Hefired,
Andmissedforthelasttime.
Hecouldhearthesoldierpanting,
Thoughhenevergotverynear.
Micuçúdashedforshelter.
Buthegotit,behindtheear.
Heheardthebabiescrying
Far,farawayinhishead,
Andthemongrelsbarkingandbarking.
ThenMicuçúwasdead.
HehadaTaurusrevolver,
Andjusttheclotheshehadon,
Withtwocontosinthepockets,
OnthehillofBabylon.
Thepoliceandthepopulace
Heavedasighofrelief,
Butbehindthecounterhisauntie
Wipedhereyesingrief.
"Wehavealwaysbeenrespected.
Myshopishonestandclean.
Ilovedhim,butfromababy
Micuçúwasmean.
"Wehavealwaysbeenrespected.
Hissisterhasajob.
Bothofusgavehimmoney.
Whydidhehavetorob?
"Iraisedhimtobehonest,
Evenhere,inBabylonslum."
Thecustomershadanother,
79
Lookingseriousandglum.
Butoneofthemsaidtoanother,
Whenhegotoutsidethedoor,
"Hewasn'tmuchofaburglar,
Hegotcaughtsixtimes--ormore."
Thismorningthelittlesoldiers
areonBabylonhillagain;
Theirgunbarrelsandhelmets
Shineinagentlerain.
Micuçúisburiedalready.
They'reafteranothertwo,
Buttheysaytheyaren'tasdangerous
AsthepoorMicuçú.
OnthegreenhillsofRio
Theregrowsafearfulstain:
ThepoorwhocometoRio
Andcan'tgohomeagain.
There'sthehillofKerosene,
AndthehilloftheSkeleton,
ThehillofAstonishment,
AndthehillofBabylon.
ElizabethBishop
80
The Colder The Air

Wemustadmireherperfectaim,
thishuntressofthewinterair
whoselevelweaponneedsnosight,
ifitwerenotthateverywhere
hergameissure,hershotisright.
Theleastofuscoulddothesame.
Thechalkybirdsorboatsstandstill,
reducingherconditionsofchance;
air'sgallerymarksidentically
thenarrowgalleryofherglance.
Thetarget-centerinhereye
isequallyheraimandwill.
Time'sinherpocket,tickingloud
ononestalledsecond.She'llconsult
nottimenorcircumstance.Shecalls
onatmosphereforherresult.
(Itisthisclockthatlaterfalls
inwheelsandchimesofleafandcloud.)
ElizabethBishop
81
The End Of March

ForJohnMalcolmBrinninandBillRead:Duxbury
Itwascoldandwindy,scarcelytheday
totakeawalkonthatlongbeach
Everythingwaswithdrawnasfaraspossible,
indrawn:thetidefarout,theoceanshrunken,
seabirdsinonesortwos.
Therackety,icy,offshorewind
numbedourfacesononeside;
disruptedtheformation
ofaloneflightofCanadageese;
andblewbackthelow,inaudiblerollers
inupright,steelymist.
Theskywasdarkerthanthewater
--itwasthecolorofmutton-fatjade.
Alongthewetsand,inrubberboots,wefollowed
atrackofbigdog-prints(sobig
theyweremorelikelion-prints).Thenwecameon
lengthsandlengths,endless,ofwetwhitestring,
loopinguptothetide-line,downtothewater,
overandover.Finally,theydidend:
athickwhitesnarl,man-size,awash,
risingoneverywave,asoddenghost,
fallingback,sodden,givinguptheghost...
Akitestring?--Butnokite.
Iwantedtogetasfarasmyproto-dream-house,
mycrypto-dream-house,thatcrookedbox
setuponpilings,shingledgreen,
asortofartichokeofahouse,butgreener
(boiledwithbicarbonateofsoda?),
protectedfromspringtidesbyapalisade
of--aretheyrailroadties?
(Manythingsaboutthisplacearedubious.)
I'dliketoretirethereanddonothing,
ornothingmuch,forever,intwobarerooms:
lookthroughbinoculars,readboringbooks,
old,long,longbooks,andwritedownuselessnotes,
talktomyself,and,foggydays,
watchthedropletsslipping,heavywithlight.
Atnight,agrogal'américaine.
I'dblazeitwithakitchenmatch
andlovelydiaphanousblueflame
wouldwaver,doubledinthewindow.
Theremustbeastove;thereisachimney,
askew,butbracedwithwires,
andelectricity,possibly
--atleast,atthebackanotherwire
limplyleashesthewholeaffair
tosomethingoffbehindthedunes.
82
Alighttoreadby--perfect!But--impossible.
Andthatdaythewindwasmuchtoocold
eventogetthatfar,
andofcoursethehousewasboardedup.
Onthewaybackourfacesfrozeontheotherside.
Thesuncameoutforjustaminute.
Forjustaminute,setintheirbezelsofsand,
thedrab,damp,scatteredstones
weremulti-colored,
andallthosehighenoughthrewoutlongshadows,
individualshadows,thenpulledtheminagain.
Theycouldhavebeenteasingthelionsun,
exceptthatnowhewasbehindthem
--asunwho'dwalkedthebeachthelastlowtide,
makingthosebig,majesticpaw-prints,
whoperhapshadbattedakiteoutoftheskytoplaywith.
ElizabethBishop
83
The Fish
Icaughtatremendousfish
andheldhimbesidetheboat
halfoutofwater,withmyhook
fastinacornerofhismouth.
Hedidn'tfight.
Hehadn'tfoughtatall.
Hehungagruntingweight,
batteredandvenerable
andhomely.Hereandthere
hisbrownskinhunginstrips
likeancientwallpaper,
anditspatternofdarkerbrown
waslikewallpaper:
shapeslikefull-blownroses
stainedandlostthroughage.
Hewasspeckledandbarnacles,
finerosettesoflime,
andinfested
withtinywhitesea-lice,
andunderneathtwoorthree
ragsofgreenweedhungdown.
Whilehisgillswerebreathingin
theterribleoxygen
--thefrighteninggills,
freshandcrispwithblood,
thatcancutsobadly-Ithoughtofthecoarsewhiteflesh
packedinlikefeathers,
thebigbonesandthelittlebones,
thedramaticredsandblacks
ofhisshinyentrails,
andthepinkswim-bladder
likeabigpeony.
Ilookedintohiseyes
whichwerefarlargerthanmine
butshallower,andyellowed,
theirisesbackedandpacked
withtarnishedtinfoil
seenthroughthelenses
ofoldscratchedisinglass.
Theyshiftedalittle,butnot
toreturnmystare.
--Itwasmorelikethetipping
ofanobjecttowardthelight.
Iadmiredhissullenface,
themechanismofhisjaw,
andthenIsaw
thatfromhislowerlip
--ifyoucouldcallitalip
grim,wet,andweaponlike,
hungfiveoldpiecesoffish-line,
orfourandawireleader
84
withtheswivelstillattached,
withalltheirfivebighooks
grownfirmlyinhismouth.
Agreenline,frayedattheend
wherehebrokeit,twoheavierlines,
andafineblackthread
stillcrimpedfromthestrainandsnap
whenitbrokeandhegotaway.
Likemedalswiththeirribbons
frayedandwavering,
afive-hairedbeardofwisdom
trailingfromhisachingjaw.
Istaredandstared
andvictoryfilledup
thelittlerentedboat,
fromthepoolofbilge
whereoilhadspreadarainbow
aroundtherustedengine
tothebailerrustedorange,
thesun-crackedthwarts,
theoarlocksontheirstrings,
thegunnels--untileverything
wasrainbow,rainbow,rainbow!
AndIletthefishgo.
ElizabethBishop
85
The Imaginary Iceberg

We'dratherhavetheicebergthantheship,
althoughitmeanttheendoftravel.
Althoughitstoodstock-stilllikecloudyrock
andalltheseaweremovingmarble.
We'dratherhavetheicebergthantheship;
we'dratherownthisbreathingplainofsnow
thoughtheship'ssailswerelaiduponthesea
asthesnowliesundissolveduponthewater.
Osolemn,floatingfield,
areyouawareanicebergtakesrepose
withyou,andwhenitwakesmaypastureonyoursnows?
Thisisasceneasailor'dgivehiseyesfor.
Theship'signored.Theicebergrises
andsinksagain;itsglassypinnacles
correctellipticsinthesky.
Thisisascenewherehewhotreadstheboards
isartlesslyrhetorical.Thecurtain
islightenoughtoriseonfinestropes
thatairytwistsofsnowprovide.
Thewitsofthesewhitepeaks
sparwiththesun.Itsweighttheicebergdares
uponashiftingstageandstandsandstares.
Theicebergcutsitsfacetsfromwithin.
Likejewelryfromagrave
itsavesitselfperpetuallyandadorns
onlyitself,perhapsthesnows
whichsosurpriseuslyingonthesea.
Good-bye,wesay,good-bye,theshipsteersoff
wherewavesgiveintooneanother'swaves
andcloudsruninawarmersky.
Icebergsbehoovethesoul
(bothbeingself-madefromelementsleastvisible)
toseethemso:fleshed,fair,erectedindivisible.
ElizabethBishop
86
The Man-moth
Here,above,
cracksinthebuldingsarefilledwithbatteredmoonlight.
ThewholeshadowofManisonlyasbigashishat.
Itliesathisfeetlikeacircleforadolltostandon,
andhemakesaninvertedpin,thepointmagnetizedtothemoon.
Hedoesnotseethemoon;heobservesonlyhervastproperties,
feelingthequeerlightonhishands,neitherwarmnorcold,
ofatemperatureimpossibletorecordsinthermometers.
ButwhentheMan-Moth
payshisrare,althoughoccasional,visitstothesurface,
themoonlooksratherdifferenttohim.Heemerges
fromanopeningundertheedgeofoneofthesidewalks
andnervouslybeginstoscalethefacesofthebuildings.
Hethinksthemoonisasmallholeatthetopofthesky,
provingtheskyquiteuselessforprotection.
Hetrembles,butmustinvestigateashighashecanclimb.
Upthefaades,
hisshadowdragginglikeaphotographer'sclothbehindhim
heclimbsfearfully,thinkingthatthistimehewillmanage
topushhissmallheadthroughthatroundcleanopening
andbeforcedthrough,asfromatube,inblackscrollsonthelight.
(Man,standingbelowhim,hasnosuchillusions.)
ButwhattheMan-Mothfearsmosthemustdo,although
hefails,ofcourse,andfallsbackscaredbutquiteunhurt.
Thenhereturns
tothepalesubwaysofcementhecallshishome.Heflits,
heflutters,andcannotgetaboardthesilenttrains
fastenoughtosuithim.Thedoorscloseswiftly.
TheMan-Mothalwaysseatshimselffacingthewrongway
andthetrainstartsatonceatitsfull,terriblespeed,
withoutashiftingearsoragradationofanysort.
Hecannottelltherateatwhichhetravelsbackwards.
Eachnighthemust
becarriedthroughartificialtunnelsanddreamrecurrentdreams.
Justasthetiesrecurbeneathhistrain,theseunderlie
hisrushingbrain.Hedoesnotdarelookoutthewindow,
forthethirdrail,theunbrokendraughtofpoison,
runstherebesidehim.Heregardsitasadisease
hehasinheritedthesusceptibilityto.Hehastokeep
hishandsinhispockets,asothersmustwearmufflers.
Ifyoucatchhim,
holdupaflashlighttohiseye.It'salldarkpupil,
anentirenightitself,whosehairedhorizontightens
ashestaresback,andclosesuptheeye.Thenfromthelids
onetear,hisonlypossession,likethebee'ssting,slips.
Slylyhepalmsit,andifyou'renotpayingattention
he'llswallowit.However,ifyouwatch,he'llhanditover,
87
coolasfromundergroundspringsandpureenoughtodrink.
ElizabethBishop
88
The Map
Landliesinwater;itisshadowedgreen.
Shadows,oraretheyshallows,atitsedges
showingthelineoflongsea-weededledges
whereweedshangtothesimplebluefromgreen.
Ordoesthelandleandowntolifttheseafromunder,
drawingitunperturbedarounditself?
Alongthefinetansandyshelf
isthelandtuggingattheseafromunder?
TheshadowofNewfoundlandliesflatandstill.
Labrador'syellow,wherethemoonyEskimo
hasoiledit.Wecanstroketheselovelybays,
underaglassasiftheywereexpectedtoblossom,
orasiftoprovideacleancageforinvisiblefish.
Thenamesofseashoretownsrunouttosea,
thenamesofcitiescrosstheneighboringmountains
-theprinterhereexperiencingthesameexcitement
aswhenemotiontoofarexceedsitscause.
Thesepeninsulastakethewaterbetweenthumbandfinger
likewomenfeelingforthesmoothnessofyard-goods.
Mappedwatersaremorequietthanthelandis,
lendingthelandtheirwaves'ownconformation:
andNorway'sharerunssouthinagitation,
profilesinvestigatethesea,wherelandis.
Aretheyassigned,orcanthecountriespicktheircolors?
-Whatsuitsthecharacterorthenativewatersbest.
Topographydisplaysnofavorites;North'sasnearasWest.
Moredelicatethanthehistorians'arethemap-makers'colors.
ElizabethBishop
89
The Monument
Nowcanyouseethemonument?Itisofwood
builtsomewhatlikeabox.No.Built
likeseveralboxesindescendingsizes
oneabovetheother.
Eachisturnedhalf-wayroundsothat
itscornerspointtowardthesides
oftheonebelowandtheanglesalternate.
Thenonthetopmostcubeisset
asortoffleur-de-lysofweatheredwood,
longpetalsofboard,piercedwithoddholes,
four-sided,stiff,ecclesiastical.
Fromitfourthin,warpedpolesspringout,
(slantedlikefishing-polesorflag-poles)
andfromthemjig-sawworkhangsdown,
fourlinesofvaguelywhittledornament
overtheedgesoftheboxes
totheground.
Themonumentisone-thirdsetagainst
asea;two-thirdsagainstasky.
Theviewisgeared
(thatis,theview'sperspective)
solowthereisno"faraway,"
andwearefarawaywithintheview.
Aseaofnarrow,horizontalboards
liesoutbehindourlonelymonument,
itslonggrainsalternatingrightandleft
likefloor-boards--spotted,swarming-still,
andmotionless.Askyrunsparallel,
anditispalings,coarserthanthesea's:
splinterysunlightandlong-fibredclouds.
"Whydoesthestrangeseamakenosound?
Isitbecausewe'refaraway?
Wherearewe?AreweinAsiaMinor,
orinMongolia?"
Anancientpromontory,
anancientprincipalitywhoseartist-prince
mighthavewantedtobuildamonument
tomarkatomborboundary,ormake
amelancholyorromanticsceneofit...
"Butthatqueersealooksmadeofwood,
half-shining,likeadriftwood,sea.
Andtheskylookswooden,grainedwithcloud.
It'slikeastage-set;itisallsoflat!
Thosecloudsarefullofglisteningsplinters!
Whatisthat?"
Itisthemonument.
"It'spiled-upboxes,
outlinedwithshoddyfret-work,half-fallenoff,
crackedandunpainted.Itlooksold."
--Thestrongsunlight,thewindfromthesea,
alltheconditionsofitsexistence,
mayhaveflakedoffthepaint,ifeveritwaspainted,
90
andmadeithomelierthanitwas.
"Whydidyoubringmeheretoseeit?
Atempleofcratesincrampedandcratedscenery,
whatcanitprove?
Iamtiredofbreathingthiserodedair,
thisdrynessinwhichthemonumentiscracking."
Itisanartifact
ofwood.Woodholdstogetherbetter
thanseaorcloudorandcouldbyitself,
muchbetterthanrealseaorsandorcloud.
Itchosethatwaytogrowandnottomove.
Themonument'sanobject,yetthosedecorations,
carelesslynailed,lookinglikenothingatall,
giveitawayashavinglife,andwishing;
wantingtobeamonument,tocherishsomething.
Thecrudestscroll-worksays"commemorate,"
whileonceeachdaythelightgoesaroundit
likeaprowlinganimal,
ortherainfallsonit,orthewindblowsintoit.
Itmaybesolid,maybehollow.
Thebonesoftheartist-princemaybeinside
orfarawayonevendriersoil.
Butroughlybutadequatelyitcanshelter
whatiswithin(whichafterall
cannothavebeenintendedtobeseen).
Itisthebeginningofapainting,
apieceofsculpture,orpoem,ormonument,
andallofwood.Watchitclosely.
ElizabethBishop
91
The Moose
ForGraceBulmerBowers
Fromnarrowprovinces
offishandbreadandtea,
homeofthelongtides
wherethebayleavesthesea
twiceadayandtakes
theherringslongrides,
whereiftheriver
entersorretreats
inawallofbrownfoam
dependsonifitmeets
thebaycomingin,
thebaynotathome;
where,siltedred,
sometimesthesunsets
facingaredsea,
andothers,veinstheflats'
lavender,richmud
inburningrivulets;
onred,gravellyroads,
downrowsofsugarmaples,
pastclapboardfarmhouses
andneat,clapboardchurches,
bleached,ridgedasclamshells,
pasttwinsilverbirches,
throughlateafternoon
abusjourneyswest,
thewindshieldflashingpink,
pinkglancingoffofmetal,
brushingthedentedflank
ofblue,beat-upenamel;
downhollows,uprises,
andwaits,patient,while
alonetravellergives
kissesandembraces
tosevenrelatives
andacolliesupervises.
Goodbyetotheelms,
tothefarm,tothedog.
Thebusstarts.Thelight
growsricher;thefog,
shifting,salty,thin,
comesclosingin.
92
Itscold,roundcrystals
formandslideandsettle
inthewhitehens'feathers,
ingrayglazedcabbages,
onthecabbageroses
andlupinslikeapostles;
thesweetpeascling
totheirwetwhitestring
onthewhitewashedfences;
bumblebeescreep
insidethefoxgloves,
andeveningcommences.
OnestopatBassRiver.
ThentheEconomies
Lower,Middle,Upper;
FiveIslands,FiveHouses,
whereawomanshakesatablecloth
outaftersupper.
Apaleflickering.Gone.
TheTantramarmarshes
andthesmellofsalthay.
Anironbridgetrembles
andalooseplankrattles
butdoesn'tgiveway.
Ontheleft,aredlight
swimsthroughthedark:
aship'sportlantern.
Tworubberbootsshow,
illuminated,solemn.
Adoggivesonebark.
Awomanclimbsin
withtwomarketbags,
brisk,freckled,elderly.
"Agrandnight.Yes,sir,
allthewaytoBoston."
Sheregardsusamicably.
Moonlightasweenter
theNewBrunswickwoods,
hairy,scratchy,splintery;
moonlightandmist
caughtinthemlikelamb'swool
onbushesinapasture.
Thepassengerslieback.
Snores.Somelongsighs.
Adreamydivagation
93
beginsinthenight,
agentle,auditory,
slowhallucination....
Inthecreakingsandnoises,
anoldconversation
--notconcerningus,
butrecognizable,somewhere,
backinthebus:
Grandparents'voices
uninterruptedly
talking,inEternity:
namesbeingmentioned,
thingsclearedupfinally;
whathesaid,whatshesaid,
whogotpensioned;
deaths,deathsandsicknesses;
theyearheremarried;
theyear(something)happened.
Shediedinchildbirth.
Thatwasthesonlost
whentheschoonerfoundered.
Hetooktodrink.Yes.
Shewenttothebad.
WhenAmosbegantopray
eveninthestoreand
finallythefamilyhad
toputhimaway.
"Yes..."thatpeculiar
affirmative."Yes..."
Asharp,indrawnbreath,
halfgroan,halfacceptance,
thatmeans"Life'slikethat.
Weknowit(alsodeath)."
Talkingthewaytheytalked
intheoldfeatherbed,
peacefully,onandon,
dimlamplightinthehall,
downinthekitchen,thedog
tuckedinhershawl.
Now,it'sallrightnow
eventofallasleep
justasonallthosenights.
--Suddenlythebusdriver
stopswithajolt,
turnsoffhislights.
94
Amoosehascomeoutof
theimpenetrablewood
andstandsthere,looms,rather,
inthemiddleoftheroad.
Itapproaches;itsniffsat
thebus'shothood.
Towering,antlerless,
highasachurch,
homelyasahouse
(or,safeashouses).
Aman'svoiceassuresus
"Perfectlyharmless...."
Someofthepassengers
exclaiminwhispers,
childishly,softly,
"Surearebigcreatures."
"It'sawfulplain."
"Look!It'sashe!"
Takinghertime,
shelooksthebusover,
grand,otherworldly.
Why,whydowefeel
(weallfeel)thissweet
sensationofjoy?
"Curiouscreatures,"
saysourquietdriver,
rollinghisr's.
"Lookatthat,wouldyou."
Thenheshiftsgears.
Foramomentlonger,
bycraningbackward,
themoosecanbeseen
onthemoonlitmacadam;
thenthere'sadim
smellofmoose,anacrid
smellofgasoline.
ElizabethBishop
95
The Shampoo
Thestillexplosionsontherocks,
thelichens,grow
byspreading,gray,concentricshocks.
Theyhavearranged
tomeettheringsaroundthemoon,although
withinourmemoriestheyhavenotchanged.
Andsincetheheavenswillattend
aslongonus,
you'vebeen,dearfriend,
precipitateandpragmatical;
andlookwhathappens.ForTimeis
nothingifnotamenable.
Theshootingstarsinyourblackhair
inbrightformation
areflockingwhere,
sostraight,sosoon?
--Come,letmewashitinthisbigtinbasin,
batteredandshinylikethemoon.
ElizabethBishop
96
The Unbeliever
Hesleepsonthetopofamast.-Bunyan
Hesleepsonthetopofamast
withhiseyesfastclosed.
Thesailsfallawaybelowhim
likethesheetsofhisbed,
leavingoutintheairofthenightthesleeper'shead.
Asleephewastransportedthere,
asleephecurled
inagildedballonthemast'stop,
orclimbedinside
agildedbird,orblindlyseatedhimselfastride.
"Iamfoundedonmarblepillars,"
saidacloud."Inevermove.
Seethepillarsthereinthesea?"
Secureinintrospection
hepeersatthewaterypillarsofhisreflection.
Agullhadwingsunderhis
andremarkedthattheair
was"likemarble."Hesaid:"Uphere
Itowerthroughthesky
forthemarblewingsonmytower-topfly."
Buthesleepsonthetopofhismast
withhiseyesclosedtight.
Thegullinquiredintohisdream,
whichwas,"Imustnotfall.
Thespangledseabelowwantsmetofall.
Itishardasdiamonds;itwantstodestroyusall."
ElizabethBishop
97
The Weed
Idreamedthatdead,andmeditating,
Ilayuponagrave,orbed,
(atleast,somecoldandclose-builtbower).
Inthecoldheart,itsfinalthought
stoodfrozen,drawnimmenseandclear,
stiffandidleasIwasthere;
andweremainedunchangedtogether
forayear,aminute,anhour.
Suddenlytherewasamotion,
asstartling,there,toeverysense
asanexplosion.Thenitdropped
toinsistent,cautiouscreeping
intheregionoftheheart,
proddingmefromdesperatesleep.
Iraisedmyhead.Aslightyoungweed
hadpushedupthroughtheheartandits
greenheadwasnoddingonthebreast.
(Allthiswasinthedark.)
Itgrewaninchlikeabladeofgrass;
next,oneleafshotoutofitsside
atwisting,wavingflag,andthen
twoleavesmovedlikeasemaphore.
Thestemgrewthick.Thenervousroots
reachedtoeachside;thegracefulhead
changeditspositionmysteriously,
sincetherewasneithersunnormoon
tocatchitsyoungattention.
Therootedheartbegantochange
(notbeat)andthenitsplitapart
andfromitbrokeafloodofwater.
Tworiversglancedofffromthesides,
onetotheright,onetotheleft,
tworushing,half-clearstreams,
(theribsmadeofthemtwocascades)
whichassuredly,smoothasglass,
wentoffthroughthefineblackgrainsofearth.
Theweedwasalmostsweptaway;
itstruggledwithitsleaves,
liftingthemfringedwithheavydrops.
Afewdropsfelluponmyface
andinmyeyes,soIcouldsee
(or,inthatblackplace,thoughtIsaw)
thateachdropcontainedalight,
asmall,illuminatedscene;
theweed-deflectedstreamwasmade
itselfofracingimages.
(Asifarivershouldcarryall
thescenesthatithadoncereflected
shutinitswaters,andnotfloating
onmomentarysurfaces.)
Theweedstoodintheseveredheart.
"Whatareyoudoingthere?"Iasked.
98
Itlifteditsheadalldrippingwet
(withmyownthoughts?)
andansweredthen:"Igrow,"itsaid,
"buttodivideyourheartagain."
ElizabethBishop
99
To Be Written on the Mirror in Whitewash

Iliveonlyhere,betweenyoureyesandyou,
ButIliveinyourworld.WhatdoIdo?
--Collectnointerest--otherwisewhatIcan;
AboveallIamnotthatstaringman.
ElizabethBishop
100
Trouve
Oh,whyshouldahen
havebeenrunover
onWest4thStreet
inthemiddleofsummer?
Shewasawhitehen
--red-and-whitenow,ofcourse.
Howdidshegetthere?
Wherewasshegoing?
Herwingfeathersspread
flat,flatinthetar,
alldirtied,andthin
astissuepaper.
Apigeon,yes,
oranEnglishsparrow,
mightmeetsuchafate,
butnotthatpoorfowl.
JustnowIwentback
tolookagain.
Ihadn'tdreamedit:
thereisahen
turnedintoaquaint
oldcountrysaying
scribbledinchalk
(exceptforthebeak).
ElizabethBishop
101
View of the Capitol from the Library of Congress

Movingfromlefttoleft,thelight
isheavyontheDome,andcoarse.
Onesmalllunetteturnsitaside
andblanklystaresofftotheside
likeabigwhiteoldwall-eyedhorse.
OntheeaststepstheAirForceBand
inuniformsofAirForceblue
isplayinghardandloud,but-queerthemusicdoesn'tquitecomethrough.
Itcomesinsnatches,dimthenkeen,
thenmute,andyetthereisnobreeze.
Thegianttreesstandinbetween.
Ithinkthetreesmustintervene,
catchingthemusicintheirleaves
likegold-dust,tilleachbigleafsags.
Unceasinglythelittleflags
feedtheirlimpstripesintotheair,
andtheband'seffortsvanishthere.
Greatshades,edgeover,
givethemusicroom.
Thegatheredbrasseswanttobo
boom-boom.
ElizabethBishop
102
Visits to St Elizabeths
ThisisthehouseofBedlam.
Thisistheman
thatliesinthehouseofBedlam.
Thisisthetime
ofthetragicman
Thisisawristwatch
tellingthetime
ofthetalkativeman
Thisisasailor
wearingthewatch
thattellsthetime
ofthehonoredman
Thisistheroadsteadallofboard
reachedbythesailor
wearingthewatch
thattellsthetime
oftheold,braveman
Thesearetheyearsandthewallsoftheward,
thewindsandcloudsoftheseaofboard
sailedbythesailor
wearingthewatch
thattellsthetime
ofthecrankyman
ThisisaJewinanewspaperhat
thatdancesweepingdowntheward
overthecreakingseaofboard
beyondthesailor
windinghiswatch
thattellsthetime
ofthecruelman
Thisisaworldofbooksgoneflat.
overthecreakingseaofboard
ofthebattysailor
thatwindshiswatch
thattellsthetime
ofthebusyman
103
Thisisaboythatpatsthefloor
toseeiftheworldisthere,isflat,
forthewidowedJewinthenewspaperhat
waltzingthelengthofaweavingboard
bythesilentsailor
thathearshiswatch
thatticksthetime
ofthetediousman
Thesearetheyearsandthewallsandthedoor
thatshutonaboythatpatsthefloor
tofeeliftheworldisthereandflat.
thatdancesjoyfullydowntheward
intothepartingseasofboard
pastthestaringsailor
thatshakeshiswatch
thattellsthetime
ofthepoet,theman
Thisisthesoldierhomefromthewar.
Thesearetheyearsandthewallsandthedoor
thatshutonaboythatpatsthefloor
toseeiftheworldisroundorflat.
thatdancescarefullydowntheward,
walkingtheplankofacoffinboard
withthecrazysailor
thatshowshiswatch
thattellsthetime
ofthewretchedman
ElizabethBishop
104
While Someone Telephones

Wasted,wastedminutesthatcouldn'tbeworse,
minutesofabarbariccondescension.
--Stareoutthebathroomwindowatthefir-trees,
attheirdarkneedles,accretionstonopurpose
woodenlycrystallized,andwheretwofireflies
areonlylost.
Hearnothingbutatrainthatgoesby,mustgoby,liketension;
nothing.Andwait:
maybeevennowtheseminutes'host
emerges,somerelaxeduncondescendingstranger,
theheart'srelease.
Andwhilethefireflies
arefailingtoilluminatethesenightmaretrees
mighttheynotbehisgreengayeyes.
ElizabethBishop
105

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Classic Poetry Series

Elizabeth Bishop (8 February 1911 6 October 1979)

A Miracle for Breakfast

First Death In Nova Scotia

In the Waiting Room

Invitation to Miss Marianne Moore

Large Bad Picture

Lines Written In The Fannie Farmer Cookbook

Love Lies Sleeping

Lullaby For the Cat

Rain Towards Morning

Sleeping on the Ceiling

Song for the Rainy Season

Songs for a Colored Singer

Suicide of a Moderate Dictator

The Burglar Of Babylon

The Colder The Air

The End Of March

The Imaginary Iceberg

To Be Written on the Mirror in Whitewash

View of the Capitol from the Library of Congress

While Someone Telephones

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