Denise Levertov

(24 October 1923 – 20 December 1997 / Ilford, Essex)

Denise Levertov Poems

1. The 90th Year 12/8/2015
2. To Live in the Mercy of God 8/18/2015
3. At The Justice Department November 15, 1969 12/14/2015
4. Making Peace 12/4/2014
5. The Sage 5/1/2011
6. News Report, September 1991 4/8/2010
7. Partial Resemblance 4/8/2010
8. Matins 4/8/2010
9. A Map Of The Western Part Of The County Of Essex In England 4/8/2010
10. The Springtime 4/8/2010
11. Song For Ishtar 4/8/2010
12. Eros 4/8/2010
13. Prisoners 4/8/2010
14. In California: Morning, Evening, Late January 4/8/2010
15. Ein Baum Erzählt Von Orpheus 4/8/2010
16. A Time Past 4/8/2010
17. February Evening In New York 4/8/2010
18. Caedmon 4/8/2010
19. Triple Feature 1/3/2003
20. Psalm Concerning The Castle 1/3/2003
21. Clouds 4/8/2010
22. St. Peter And The Angel 1/3/2003
23. Sojourns In The Parallel World 1/3/2003
24. The Great Black Heron 1/3/2003
25. Hypocrite Women 4/8/2010
26. The Quest 1/3/2003
27. Goodbye To Tolerance 4/8/2010
28. Settling 1/3/2003
29. Web 1/3/2003
30. The Sea's Wash In The Hollow Of The Heart... 1/3/2003
31. September 1961 1/3/2003
32. On A Theme By Thomas Merton 1/3/2003
33. To The Reader 1/3/2003
34. Wanting The Moon 1/3/2003
35. On The Mystery Of The Incarnation 1/3/2003
36. The Well 1/3/2003
37. The Métier Of Blossoming 1/3/2003
38. The Elves 1/3/2003
39. The Dog Of Art 1/3/2003
40. Seeing For A Moment 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Denise Levertov

What Were They Like?

Did the people of Viet Nam
use lanterns of stone?
Did they hold ceremonies
to reverence the opening of buds?
Were they inclined to quiet laughter?
Did they use bone and ivory,
jade and silver, for ornament?
Had they an epic poem?
Did they distinguish between speech and singing?

Sir, their light hearts turned to stone.
It is not remembered whether in gardens
stone gardens illumined pleasant ways.
Perhaps they gathered once to delight in blossom,
but after their children were killed
there were no more buds.
Sir, laughter is bitter to the burned ...

Read the full of What Were They Like?

Pleasures

I like to find
what's not found
at once, but lies

within something of another nature,
in repose, distinct.
Gull feathers of glass, hidden

in white pulp: the bones of squid

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