Robert Lowell

Robert Lowell

Robert Traill Spence Lowell IV (/ˈloʊəl/; March 1, 1917 – September 12, 1977) was an American poet. He was born into a Boston Brahmin family that could trace its origins back to thБольше
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#memories2 мин. чтения

Memories of West Street and Lepke

Only teaching on Tuesdays, book-wormingin pajamas fresh from the washer each morning,
I hog a whole house on Boston's "hardly passionate Marlborough Street,"where even the manscavenging filth in the back alley trash cans,has two chi...

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#children1 мин. чтения

Children of Light

Our fathers wrung their bread from stocks and
And fenced their gardens with the Redmen's bones;
Embarking from the Nether Land of Holland,
Pilgrims unhouseled by Geneva's night,

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#the2 мин. чтения

The Drunken Fisherman

Wallowing in this bloody sty,
I cast for fish that pleased my eye(Truly Jehovah's bow
No pots of gold to weight its ends);
Only the blood-mouthed rainbow

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#man2 мин. чтения

Man and Wife

Tamed by Miltown, we lie on Mother's bed;the rising sun in war paint dyes us red;in broad daylight her gilded bed-posts shine,abandoned, almost Dionysian
At last the trees are green on Marlborough Street,blossoms on our magnolia ignitethe mor...

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#falling4 мин. чтения

Falling Asleep Over The Aeneid

An old man in Concord forgets to go to morning service
He falls asleep, while reading Vergil, and dreams that he is Aeneas at the funeral of Pallas, an Italian prince
The sun is blue and scarlet on my page,
And yuck-a, yuck-a, yuck-...

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#the2 мин. чтения

Waking in the Blue

The night attendant, a B
U
sophomore,rouses from the mare's-nest of his drowsy headpropped on The Meaning of Meaning
He catwalks down our corridor

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#history1 мин. чтения

History

History has to live with what was here,clutching and close to fumbling all we had—it is so dull and gruesome how we die,unlike writing, life never finishes
Abel was finished; death is not remote,a flash-in-the-pan electrifies the skeptic,his ...

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#the5 мин. чтения

The Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket

Let man have dominion over the fishes of the sea and the fowls of the airand the beasts and the whole earth, and every creeping creature that moveth upon the earth
IA brackish reach of shoal off Madaket,-The sea was still breaking violently a...

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#epilogue1 мин. чтения

Epilogue

Those blessèd structures, plot and rhyme—why are they no help to me nowI want to makesomething imagined, not recalled
I hear the noise of my own voice:
The painter's vision is not a lens, it trembles to caress the light
But sometime...

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#skunk hour2 мин. чтения

Skunk Hour

(for Elizabeth Bishop)Nautilus Island's hermitheiress still lives through winter in her Spartan cottage;her sheep still graze above the sea
Her son's a bishop
Her farmer is first selectman in our village;she's in her dotage
Thirstin...

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#homecoming1 мин. чтения

Homecoming

What was is… since 1930;the boys in my old gangare senior partners
They start upbald like baby birdsto embrace retirement
At the altar of surrender,
I met youin the hour of credulity

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#the2 мин. чтения

The Old Flame

My old flame, my wife
Remember our lists of birds
One morning last summer,
I droveby our house in Maine

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