All Poems

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The Drunkard

© Philip Levine

He fears the tiger standing in his way.
The tiger takes its time, it smiles and growls.
Like moons, the two blank eyes tug at his bowels.
"God help me now," is all that he can say.

Silent

© Edgar Albert Guest

I did not argue with the man,
It seemed a waste of words.
He gave to chance the wondrous plan
That gave sweet song to birds.

On The Meeting Of García Lorca And Hart Crane

© Philip Levine

Brooklyn, 1929. Of course Crane's
been drinking and has no idea who
this curious Andalusian is, unable
even to speak the language of poetry.

Sierra Kid

© Philip Levine

I passed Slimgullion, Morgan Mine,
Camp Seco, and the rotting Lode.
Dark walls of sugar pine --,
And where I left the road

Making It Work

© Philip Levine

3-foot blue cannisters of nitro
along a conveyor belt, slow fish
speaking the language of silence.
On the roof, I in my respirator

Picture Postcard From The Other World

© Philip Levine

Since I don't know who will be reading
this or even if it will be read, I must
invent someone on the other end
of eternity, a distant cousin laboring

Making Light Of It

© Philip Levine

I call out a secret name, the name
of the angel who guards my sleep,
and light grows in the east, a new light
like no other, as soft as the petals

The Water's Chant

© Philip Levine

Seven years ago I went into
the High Sierras stunned by the desire
to die. For hours I stared into a clear
mountain stream that fell down

Wisteria

© Philip Levine

The first purple wisteria
I recall from boyhood hung
on a wire outside the windows
of the breakfast room next door

The Whole Soul

© Philip Levine

Is it long as a noodle
or fat as an egg? Is it
lumpy like a potato or
ringed like an oak or an

Red Dust

© Philip Levine

This harpie with dry red curls
talked openly of her husband,
his impotence, his death, the death
of her lover, the birth and death

Where We Live Now

© Philip Levine

We live here because the houses
are clean, the lawns run
right to the street

The Rat Of Faith

© Philip Levine

A blue jay poses on a stake
meant to support an apple tree
newly planted. A strong wind
on this clear cold morning

Torn into light, you woke wriggling
on a woman's palm. Halved, quartered,
shredded to the wind, you were the life
that thrilled along the underbelly
of a stone. Stilled in the frozen pond
you rinsed heaven with a sigh.

Black Stone On Top Of Nothing

Still sober, César Vallejo comes home and finds a black ribbon
around the apartment building covering the front door.
He puts down his cane, removes his greasy fedora, and begins
to untangle the mess. His neighbors line up behind him

Fist

Iron growing in the dark,
it dreams all night long
and will not work. A flower
that hates God, a child
tearing at itself, this one
closes on nothing.

The House

This poem has a door, a locked door,
and curtains drawn against the day,
but at night the lights come on, one
in each room, and the neighbors swear

The Return

All afternoon my father drove the country roads
between Detroit and Lansing. What he was looking for
I never learned, no doubt because he never knew himself,
though he would grab any unfamiliar side road

The Negatives

On March 1, 1958, four deserters from the French Army of North Africa,
August Rein, Henri Bruette, Jack Dauville, & Thomas Delain, robbed a
government pay station at Orleansville. Because of the subsequent
confession of Dauville the other three were captured or shot. Dauville
was given his freedom and returned to the land of his birth, the U.S.A.

Milkweed

Remember how unimportant
they seemed, growing loosely
in the open fields we crossed
on the way to school. We