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I stand upon a hill and see A luminous country under me, Through which at two the drunk sailor must weave; The transient's pause, the sailor's leave.…
an Anglo-American poet who was praised both for his early verses in England, where he was associated with The Movement and his later poetry in America, even after moving toward a looser, free-verse style. After relocating from England to San Francisco, Gunn, who became openly gay, wrote about gay-related topics — particularly in his most famous work, The Man With Night Sweats in 1992 — as well as drug use, sex, and topics related to his bohemian lifestyle. He won numerous major literary awards.)
Thom Gunn şiirleri
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From the private ease of Mother's womb I fall into the lighted room. Why don't they simply put me back…
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In the silence that prolongs the span Rawly of music when the record ends, The red-haired boy who drove a van In weekday overalls but, like his friends,…
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The snail pushes through a green night, for the grass is heavy with water and meets over the bright path he makes, where rain…
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1 When in his twenties a poetry's full strength Burst into voice as an unstopping flood,…
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I have reached a time when words no longer help: Instead of guiding me across the moors Strong landmarks in the uncertain out-of-doors,…
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It mounts at sea, a concave wall Down-ribbed with shine, And pushes forward, building tall Its steep incline.…
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You go from me In June for months on end To study equanimity Among high trees alone;…
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Your dying was a difficult enterprise. First, petty things took up your energies, The small but clustering duties of the sick, Irritant as the cough's dry rhetoric.…
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Nightmare of beasthood, snorting, how to wake. I woke. What beasthood skin she made me take? Leathery toad that ruts for days on end,…
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One by one they appear in the darkness: a few friends, and a few with historical names. How late they start to shine!…
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The blue jay scuffling in the bushes follows Some hidden purpose, and the gush of birds That spurts across the field, the wheeling swallows, Have nested in the trees and undergrowt…
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Two dumpy women with buns were drinking coffee In a narrow kitchen—at least I think a kitchen And I think it was whitewashed, in spite of all the shade. They were flat brown, they…
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I shall not soon forget The greyish-yellow skin To which the face had set: Lids tights: nothing of his,…
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I am too young to grow a beard But yes man it was me you heard In dirty denim and dark glasses. I look through everyone who passes…
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