Earle Birney poet from Canada was born on May 13, 1904, had 91 years and died on September 3, 1995. Poems were written in Modern age mainly in English language. Dominant movement is other.
Top ten poems Earle Birney
Canada: Case History: 1945
... ives keen to bag the estate,schizophrenia not excluded,will he learn to grow up before it's too late ...
Anglosaxon Street
... Dawndrizzle ended dampness steams fromblotching brick and blank plasterwasteFaded housepatterns hoary and finickyunfold stuttering stick like a phonographHere is a ghetto gotten for goyimO with care denuded of nigger and kikeNo coonsmell rankles reeks only cellarrotOttar of carexhaust catcorpse and cookinggreaseImperial hearts heave in this havenCracks across windows are welded with slogansThere'll Always Be An England enhances geraniumsand V's for Victory vanquish the houseflyHoy? with climbing sun march the bleached beldamesfestooned with shopping bags farded flatarchedbigthewed Saxonwives stepping over buttriverswaddling back wienerladen to suckle smallfryHoy! with sunslope shrieking over hydrantsflood from learninghall the lean fingerlingsNordic nobblecheeked not all clean of noseleaping Commandowise into leprous lanesWhat! after whistleblow! spewed from wheelboatafter daylong doughtiness dire handplayin sewertrench or sandpit come SaxonthegnsJunebrown Jutekings jawslack for meatSit after supper on smeared doorstepsnot humbly swearing hatedeeds on Hunsprofiteers politicians pacifists JewsThen by twobit magic to muse in movieunlock picturehoard or lope to alehallsoaking bleakly in beer skittlelessHome again to hotbox and humid husbandhoodin slumbertrough adding sleepily to AnglekinAlongside in lanenooks carling and lemancaterwaul and clip careless of Saxonrywith moonglow and haste and a higher heartbeatSlumbers now slumtrack unstinks coolingwaiting brief for milkmaid mornstar and worldrise ...
Answers to a Grade-School Biology Test
... d themselves and cats from all the earth that glares at sky and there is freedom to preside for rats ...
The Bear on the Delhi Road
... Unreal tall as a mythby the road the Himalayan bearis beating the brilliant airwith his crooked armsAbout him two men barespindly as locusts leapOne pulls on a ringin the great soft nose His mateflicks flicks with a stickup at the rolling eyesThey have not led him heredown from the fabulous hillsto this bald alien plainand the clamorous world to killbut simply to teach him to danceThey are peaceful both these sparemen of Kashmir and the bearalive is their living tooIf far on the Delhi wayaround him galvanic they danceit is merely to wear wearfrom his shaggy body the trancedwish forever to stayonly an ambling bearfour-footed in berriesIt is no more joyous for themin this hot dust to pranceout of reach of the praying clawssharpened to paw for antsin the shadows of deodarsIt is not easy to freemyth from realityor rear this fellow upto lurch lurch with themin the tranced dancing of men ...
Bestiary
... an arkfull she isof undulant creaturesa cinnamon bearcubcurled in a warm ballthinking of honey & berriesnuts roots or evengrass jelly for suppera sturdy raccoon toowith marked eyes& dexterous forepawsvery frequent to bathe& a bandit of ice creamwho sleeps a lotwith one slow hindpawpoking most modestly outor a shy bobcatcoloured olive-brownor maybe pale goldwith roundslipper-fur feeton which she sits very quietand so thoughtfulbeside her leafy plantsshe is sometimes invisiblethough very much thereshe can be an ochresquirrel as wellsinuous & all compactalert & frisky& away & back like a dream& whatever creatureshe is its peaceful emissarymost faithful& most loving ...
David
... of that day on the ledge of the Finger,That day, the last of my youth, on the last of our mountains ...
El Greco: Espolio
... The carpenter is intent on the pressure of his handon the awl and the trick of pinpointing his strengththrough the awl to the wood which is toughHe has no effort to spare for despoilingsor to worry if he'll be cut in on the diceHis skill is vital to the scene and the safety of the stateAnyone can perform the indignities It's his hard armsand craft that hold the eyes of the convict's womenThere is the problem of getting the holes exact(in the middle of this elbowing crowd)and deep enough to hold the spikesafter they've sunk through those bared feetand inadequate wrists he knows are waiting behind himHe doesn't sense perhaps that one of the handsis held in a curious gesture over him --giving or asking forgiveness? --but he'd scarcely take time to be puzzled by posesCriminals come in all sorts as anyone knows who makes crossesare as mad or sane as those who decide on their killingsOur one at least has been quiet so farthough they say he talked himself into this troublea carpenter's son who got notions of preachingWell heres a carpenter's son who'll have carpenter sonsGod willing and build what's wanted temples or tablesmangers or crosses and shape them decentlyworking alone in that firm and profound abstractionwhich blots out the bawling of rag-snatchersTo construct with hands knee-weight braced thighkeeps the back turned from deathBut it's too late now for the other carpenter's boyto return to this peace before the nails are hammered ...
My Love is Young
... my love is young & i am oldshe'll need a new man soonbut still we wake to clip and talkto laugh as oneto eat and walkbeneath our thirteen-year-old moongood moon good sunthat we do lovei pray the world believe me& never tell me when it's timethat i'm to dieor she's to leave me ...
Never Blush to Dream
... to a melody in the "Chrysanthemum Rag" of Scott Joplin1never blush to dreama lost loveslides into your bed againthere's no treasonthough the blood stirswhen a stranger speaks his nameeach lover keeps the homehe made within your mindand has a keyto lie with you unbiddenso long as you are holdinggentle thoughts of him2never feel a guiltto hear mewhisper still within the nightold loves lurk in eyesthat brightento the new enchanter's sighti too must rise from warmthto drift with other ghostsfrom worldly viewyet i'll come into your bedsome night againand dream myself alive in you ...
Plaza de la Inquisición
... A spider's bodylimp and hairyappeared at the bottom of my coffeeThe waiter being Castiliansaid passionately nothingAnd why indeed should apologiesbe made to meIt was I who was looking inat the spiderIt might be yearsbefore I slipped and drownedin somebody else's cup ...
