Commit e294dc99 authored by Stine Johanne's avatar Stine Johanne

Edit poem lines

parent 736659ab
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"text": "City \nBY FREDERICK SEIDEL \n\nRight now, a dog tied up in the street is barking \nWith the grief of being left, \nA dog bereft. \nRight now, a car is parking. \n \nThe dog emits \nPetals of a barking flower and barking flakes of snow \nThat float upward from the street below \nTo where another victim sits: \n \nWho listens to the whole city \nAnd the dog honking like a car alarm, \nAnd doesn’t mean the dog any harm, \nAnd doesn’t feel any pity."
"text": "City \nBY FREDERICK SEIDEL \n\nRight now, a dog tied up \n in the street is barking \nWith the grief of being left, \nA dog bereft. \nRight now, a car is parking. \n \nThe dog emits \nPetals of a barking flower \nand barking flakes of snow \nThat float upward from the street below \nTo where another victim sits: \n \nWho listens to the whole city \nAnd the dog honking like a car alarm, \nAnd doesn’t mean the dog any harm, \nAnd doesn’t feel any pity."
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"text": "Not for That City\nBY CHARLOTTE MEW\n\nNot for that city of the level sun,\nIts golden streets and glittering gates ablaze—\nThe shadeless, sleepless city of white days,\nWhite nights, or nights and days that are as one—\nWe weary, when all is said , all thought, all done.\nWe strain our eyes beyond this dusk to see\nWhat, from the threshold of eternity\nWe shall step into. No, I think we shun\nThe splendour of that everlasting glare,\nThe clamour of that never-ending song.\nAnd if for anything we greatly long,\nIt is for some remote and quiet stair\nWhich winds to silence and a space for sleep\nToo sound for waking and for dreams too deep."
"text": "Not for That City\nBY CHARLOTTE MEW\n\nNot for that city of the level sun,\nIts golden streets \nand glittering gates ablaze—\nThe shadeless, \nsleepless city of white days,\nWhite nights, \nor nights and days that are as one—\nWe weary, when all is said , \nall thought, all done.\nWe strain our eyes beyond this dusk to see\nWhat, from the threshold of eternity\nWe shall step into. No, I think we shun\nThe splendour of that everlasting glare,\nThe clamour of that never-ending song.\nAnd if for anything we greatly long,\nIt is for some remote and quiet stair\nWhich winds to silence \nand a space for sleep\nToo sound for waking \nand for dreams too deep."
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"text": "The Pilot in the Jungle\nBY JOHN CIARDI\nI\n\nMachine stitched rivets ravel on a tree\nWhose name he does not know. Left in the sky,\nHe dangles from a silken cumulus\n(Stork’s bundle upside down\nOn the delivering wind) and sees unborn\nIncredible jungles of the lizard’s eye:\nDark fern, dark river, a shale coliseum\nMountained above one smudgepot in the trees\nThat was his surreal rug on metered skies\nAnd slid afire into this fourth dimension\nWhose infinite point of meeting parallels\nHe marks in ultra-space, suspended from\nThe chords of fifty centuries\nDescending to their past—a ripping sound\nThat snags him limb by limb. He tears and falls\nLouder than any fruit dropped from the trees,\nAnd finds himself in mud on hands and knees."
"text": "The Pilot in the Jungle\nBY JOHN CIARDI\nI\n\nMachine stitched rivets ravel on a tree\nWhose name he does not know. \nLeft in the sky,\nHe dangles from a silken cumulus\n(Stork’s bundle upside down\nOn the delivering wind) and sees unborn\nIncredible jungles of the lizard’s eye:\nDark fern, dark river, a shale coliseum\nMountained above one smudgepot in the trees\nThat was his surreal rug on metered skies\nAnd slid afire into this fourth dimension\nWhose infinite point of meeting parallels\nHe marks in ultra-space, suspended from\nThe chords of fifty centuries\nDescending to their past—a ripping sound\nThat snags him limb by limb. \n He tears and falls\nLouder than any fruit \ndropped from the trees,\nAnd finds himself in mud \non hands and knees."
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"text": "Washing the Elephant\nBY BARBARA RAS\n\nIsn't it always the heart that wants to wash\nthe elephant, begging the body to do it\nwith soap and water, a ladder, hands,\nin tree-shade big enough for the vast savannahs\nof your sadness, the strangler fig of your guilt,\nthe cratered full moon's light fueling\nthe windy spooling memory of elephant?"
"text": "Washing the Elephant\nBY BARBARA RAS\n\nIsn't it always the heart that wants to wash\nthe elephant, begging the body to do it\nwith soap and water, a ladder, hands,\nin tree-shade big enough \nfor the vast savannahs\nof your sadness, \nthe strangler fig of your guilt,\nthe cratered full moon's light fueling\nthe windy spooling memory of elephant?"
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"text": "Tree\nBY JANE HIRSHFIELD\n\nIt is foolish\nto let a young redwood \ngrow next to a house.\n \nEven in this \none lifetime,\n\nyou will have to choose.\n\nThat great calm being,\nthis clutter of soup pots and books— \n\nAlready the first branch-tips brush at the window. \nSoftly, calmly, immensity taps at your life."
"text": "Tree\nBY JANE HIRSHFIELD\n\nIt is foolish\nto let a young redwood \ngrow next to a house.\n \nEven in this \none lifetime,\n\nyou will have to choose.\n\nThat great calm being,\nthis clutter of soup pots and books— \n\nAlready the first branch-tips \nbrush at the window. \nSoftly, calmly, \nimmensity taps at your life."
}
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