By John Berryman
Faber are happy to announce the relaunch of the poetry record - beginning in Spring 2001 and carrying on with, with booklet dates every month, for the remainder of the yr. it will contain a brand new jacket layout recalling the typographic virtues of the vintage Faber poetry covers, connecting the backlist and the hot titles inside a unmarried embracing conceal resolution. an enormous reissue software is scheduled, to incorporate vintage person collections from each one decade, a few of that have lengthy been unavailable: Wallace Stevens's Harmonium and Ezra Pound's Personae from the Nineteen Twenties; W.H. Auden's Poems (1930); Robert Lowell's lifestyles reports from the Nineteen Fifties; John Berryman's seventy seven Dream Songs and Philip Larkin's The Whitsun Weddings from the Sixties; Ted Hughes's Gaudete and Seamus Heaney's box paintings from the Nineteen Seventies; Michael Hofmann's Acrimony and Douglas Dunn's Elegies from the Eighties. Timed to have a good time book of Seamus Heaney's new assortment, electrical gentle, the relaunch is meant to re-emphasize the predominance of Faber Poetry, and to have a good time a sequence which has performed a shaping position within the historical past of contemporary poetry due to the fact its inception within the Twenties.
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It’s not a good position I am in. If I had to do the whole thing over again I wouldn’t. 34 29 There sat down, once, a thing on Henry’s heart só heavy, if he had a hundred years & more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time Henry could not make good. Starts again always in Henry’s ears the little cough somewhere, an odour, a chime. And there is another thing he has in mind like a grave Sienese face a thousand years would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of. Ghastly, with open eyes, he attends, blind.
Never see my son, easy be not to see anyone, combers out to sea know they’re goin somewhere but not me. Got a little poison, got a little gun, I’m scared a lonely. I’m scared a only one thing, which is me, from othering I don’t take nothin, see, for any hound dog’s sake. But this is where I livin, where I rake my leaves and cop my promise, this’ where we cry oursel’s awake. Wishin was dyin but I gotta make it all this way to that bed on these feet where peoples said to meet. Maybe but even if I see my son forever never, get back on the take, free, black & forty-one.
He had fine stories and was another man in private; difficult, always. Courteous, on the whole, in private. He apologize to Henry, off & on, for two blue slanders; which was good of him. I don’t know how he made it. Quickly, off stage with all but kindness, now. I can’t say what I have in mind. Bless Frost, any odd god around. Gentle his shift, I decussate & command, stoic deity. For a while here we possessed an unusual man. 43 38 The Russian grin bellows his condolence tó the family: ah but it’s Kay, & Ted, & Chris & Anne, Henry thinks of: who eased his fearful way from here, in here, to there.