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Strength no more

I don't have the strength
to face you any
more.
I use to be strong and healthy
but, now I am weak
and I don't know if i can still hear my
heart beat
anymore.

It took all the strength I
had to get over you but,
I am still not over you and
I have no more strength to give
you anymore.

You took all strength I
had and now I can only lie
down in my bed and think
about you and me when
we where together.

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick Berryman
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Depression in Early Spring

Meathooks, notebooks,
the whole city sky palely flaming
& spectral bombs
hitting that patch of river
I see from my eastern window.

The poets are dead, the city dying.
Anne, Sylvia, Keats
with his passionate lungs,
Berryman jumping from the bridge & waving,
all the dreamers dead
of their own dreams.

Why have I stayed on as Horatio?
Anne sends poems from the grave,
Sylvia, letters.
John Keats's ghostly cough
comes through the wall board.
What am I doing here?
Why contend?

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poem by Erica Jong
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Upon Finding A Book Of John Berryman Poems On A Street Corner Manhattan Lower East - A Shabbos Poem

for Gerald & Shirah Kober Zeller

'Lord, lord...why are our finest always dead? ' - Louis Zukovsky

from traffic onto street corner
2nd Ave and St. Marks now here
Berryman is lifted up from a corner
not yet 'spiffied' the works gummed
up literally spit out for years
countless Chicklets spat
2-per-box-a-nickle a lover's
quarrel with the shoe-and-should
what good come of the chewing
masses hurrying home or to ferry
over river/bay to old brick
even the convent on the hill
just up from the undocking
crowd is dark for want of mercy

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poem by Warren Falcon
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A Poem In Fragments Beginning With A Line From Berryman, Black Mouse Series Ensuing

[the poem begins with a line by John Berryman ending with the word 'honey']

Childness let's have us honey, flame intended,
names smeared on the glass, an accidental pane
times hands touching it delicate as trespass,
what is allowed lace of vision times want equals
at last a sum equals at last a remorse felt,
a memory - sunk into soft teas - steeping, turns
steaming said window said prints/views obscured
of nothing in particular or special, troubles only,
only of passing birds enamored of (their lighter
bones) or are they cloud and shadow? merely the
steep sun declining ashen into the Jersey side?

*

O come lover back the floor where we lay a'times
upon boards the cluttered clothes the depositions
times at least three and take me once again one

[...] Read more

poem by Warren Falcon
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The Light Doesn't Talk To The Flowers Anymore

The light doesn't talk to the flowers anymore
the way it used to. I can feel a lot of shadows touching my face
as if it were written in braille. Acid in the rain.
Tears of dry ice in the housewell. Weathervanes
knocking at the door to get out of the storms
they used to revel in, and the storms themselves,
no kamikazes riding a divine wind against the Mongols,
at best, a mango-flavoured tempest in a Japanese teapot.
And even Zen can't put an edge on the full moon
to cut through everything like a harvest being threshed.

No songs from the birds that used to wake me up in the morning,
only these spiders weaving their smokey laryngeal webs
like a voice that got stuck in the throat of a chimney
when it forgot, when you sing from the heart,
you don't need a medium or a seance. Not even an art
that's interested in what you're saying unless
you're obeying a grammar of headstones that don't know
what you're talking about until it's not worth
bringing up anymore in anybody's language

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poem by Patrick White
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Gambit

Cast: Colin Firth, Cameron Diaz, Alan Rickman, Tom Courtenay, Mike Noble, Alex Macqueen, Joe Berryman

trailer for Gambit, directed by Michael Hoffman (2012)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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