Thom Gunn Poems
|3.||For A Birthday||12/3/2014|
|6.||Tamer And Hawk||8/29/2014|
|8.||From The Wave||11/7/2005|
|9.||Painting By Vuillard||1/3/2003|
|10.||To Yvor Winters||1/3/2003|
|11.||A Map Of The City||11/12/2005|
|13.||The Butcher's Son||1/3/2003|
|16.||My Sad Captains||1/13/2003|
|18.||Considering The Snail||1/3/2003|
|19.||The Man With Night Sweats||1/3/2003|
|22.||On The Move 'Man, You Gotta Go.'||1/13/2003|
On The Move 'Man, You Gotta Go.'
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 undergrowth.
Seeking their instinct, or their pose, or both,
One moves with an uncertain violence
Under the dust thrown by a baffled sense
Or the dull thunder of approximate words.
On motorcycles, up the road, they come:
Small, black, as flies hanging in heat, the Boy,
Until the distance throws them forth, their hum
Bulges to thunder held by calf and thigh.
In goggles, donned...
To Yvor Winters
Though night is always close, complete negation
Ready to drop on wisdom and emotion,
Night from the air or the carnivorous breath,
Still it is right to know the force of death,
And, as you do, persistent, tough in will,
Raise from the excellent the better still.