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- Author: John Ashbery
- Publisher: Ecco Press
- ISBN-10: 0061173843
- ISBN-13: 9780061173844
- Format: 16 x 22.8 x 0.7 cm, minkšti viršeliai
- Language: English
- SAVE -10% with code: EXTRA
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Description
Thrill of a Romance
It's different when you have hiccups.
Everything is--so many glad hands competing
for your attention, a scarf, a puff of soot,
or just a blast of silence from a radio.
What is it? That's for you to learn
to your dismay when, at the end of a long queue
in the cafeteria, tray in hand, they tell you the gate closed down
after the Second World War. Syracuse was declared capital
of a nation in malaise, but the directorate
had other, hidden goals. To proclaim logic
a casualty of truth was one.
Everyone's solitude (and resulting promiscuity)
perfumed the byways of villages we had thought civilized.
I saw you waiting for a streetcar and pressed forward.
Alas, you were only a child in armor. Now when ribald toasts
sail round a table too fair laid out, why the consequences
are only dust, disease and old age. Pleasant memories
are just that. So I channel whatever
into my contingency, a vein of mercury
that keeps breaking out, higher up, more on time
every time. Dirndls spotted with obsolete flowers,
worn in the city again, promote open discussion.
EXTRA 10 % discount with code: EXTRA
The promotion ends in 23d.22:28:19
The discount code is valid when purchasing from 10 €. Discounts do not stack.
- Author: John Ashbery
- Publisher: Ecco Press
- ISBN-10: 0061173843
- ISBN-13: 9780061173844
- Format: 16 x 22.8 x 0.7 cm, minkšti viršeliai
- Language: English English
Thrill of a Romance
It's different when you have hiccups.
Everything is--so many glad hands competing
for your attention, a scarf, a puff of soot,
or just a blast of silence from a radio.
What is it? That's for you to learn
to your dismay when, at the end of a long queue
in the cafeteria, tray in hand, they tell you the gate closed down
after the Second World War. Syracuse was declared capital
of a nation in malaise, but the directorate
had other, hidden goals. To proclaim logic
a casualty of truth was one.
Everyone's solitude (and resulting promiscuity)
perfumed the byways of villages we had thought civilized.
I saw you waiting for a streetcar and pressed forward.
Alas, you were only a child in armor. Now when ribald toasts
sail round a table too fair laid out, why the consequences
are only dust, disease and old age. Pleasant memories
are just that. So I channel whatever
into my contingency, a vein of mercury
that keeps breaking out, higher up, more on time
every time. Dirndls spotted with obsolete flowers,
worn in the city again, promote open discussion.
Reviews