Eclogue Of The Liberal And The Poet
In that place, shepherd, all the men are dead.
Yes, look at the water grim and black
Where immense Europa rears her head,
Her face pinched and her breasts slack.
I said, shepherd, all the men are dead.
Shall I turn to the road that goes America?
Is that a place for men to be dead
Or living? If you don't mind being asked.
Try it and see. It's a pretty good way
To skim three thousand miles in a day
And none of them America.
But what about her face and the tasked
Wonders of her air and soil, her big belly
That Putnam writes about under the sun?
I don't know Put, I don't know his Nelly-
To name her that if she'd name it fun
But you know she hasn't any name,
Nowhere you touch her she's the same,
What, shepherd, are we talking about?
You started it, shepherd.
Shepherd, I didn't.
You did; you saw the poetical face of Europe.
You said it was no place for men to be.
I meant seawater; you thought I meant hope.
Hell, I reckon you think I am a dope.
I didn't say that; I said there was no place.
If not in a place, where are the People weeping?
They creep weeping in the lace, not place.
Is it something with which we may cope-
The weeping, the creeping, the peepee-ing, the
Hanging is something which I will do with this
Alas, for us who peep, weeping.
Alas, for us you see but little hope.
Alas, I didn't say that; you rhymed hope with rope.
I meant I was going to hang us both for creeping.
Afterwards they could process us into soap;
Afterwards they would rhyme soap with hope.
What a cheerful rhyme! Clean not mean!
Been not seenl Not tired expired!
We must now decide about place.
We decide that place is the big weeping face
And the other abstract lace of the race.
Shepherd, what are we talking about?
Oh, why, shepherd, are we stalking about?
Allen Tate's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Eclogue Of The Liberal And The Poet by Allen Tate )
- The man and the mirror, Melikhaya Zagagana
- Restive journey away from home, Melikhaya Zagagana
- Paralysis Agitans, Steve Lang
- Think Me On That Train, Susan Lacovara
- Lovers, Tex T Sarnie
- The Big Picture, Tex T Sarnie
- You fill me, hasmukh amathalal
- I stashed my life, Aftab Alam
- the right self, RIC S. BASTASA
- Am I different?, gajanan mishra
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- 1914 V: The Soldier, Rupert Brooke
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Sonnet XVII, Pablo Neruda
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love .., Pablo Neruda
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
James Whitcomb Riley
(7 October 1849 - 22 July 1916)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
- Heather Burns
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(November 1, 1871 – June 5, 1900)