By John Berryman
Faber are happy to announce the relaunch of the poetry record - beginning in Spring 2001 and carrying on with, with booklet dates every month, for the remainder of the 12 months. it will contain a brand new jacket layout recalling the typographic virtues of the vintage Faber poetry covers, connecting the backlist and the hot titles inside a unmarried embracing disguise answer. a huge reissue software is scheduled, to incorporate vintage person collections from every one decade, a few of that have lengthy been unavailable: Wallace Stevens's Harmonium and Ezra Pound's Personae from the Nineteen Twenties; W.H. Auden's Poems (1930); Robert Lowell's existence stories from the Nineteen Fifties; John Berryman's seventy seven Dream Songs and Philip Larkin's The Whitsun Weddings from the Sixties; Ted Hughes's Gaudete and Seamus Heaney's box paintings from the Seventies; Michael Hofmann's Acrimony and Douglas Dunn's Elegies from the Nineteen Eighties. Timed to have fun e-book of Seamus Heaney's new assortment, electrical mild, the relaunch is meant to re-emphasize the predominance of Faber Poetry, and to have fun a chain which has performed a shaping position within the heritage of contemporary poetry considering the fact that its inception within the Twenties.
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Additional resources for 77 Dream Songs
34 29 There sat down, once, a thing on Henry’s heart só heavy, if he had a hundred years & more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time Henry could not make good. Starts again always in Henry’s ears the little cough somewhere, an odour, a chime. And there is another thing he has in mind like a grave Sienese face a thousand years would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of. Ghastly, with open eyes, he attends, blind. All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears; thinking. But never did Henry, as he thought he did, end anyone and hacks her body up and hide the pieces, where they may be found.
35 30 Collating bones: I would have liked to do. Henry would have been hot at that. I missed his profession. As a little boy I always thought ‘I’m an archeologist’; who could be more respected peaceful serious than that? Hell talkt my brain awake. Bluffed to the ends of me pain & I took up a pencil; like this I’m longing with. One sign would snow me back, back. is there anyone in the audience who has lived in vain? A Chinese tooth! African jaw! Drool, says a nervous system, for a joyous replacing.
Cool their flushing blood, them eyes is shut— eyes? Appalled: by all the dead: Henry brooded. Without exception! All. ALL. The senior population waits. Come down! come down! A ghastly & flashing pause, clothed, life called; us do. In a madhouse heard I an ancient man tube-fed who had not said for fifteen years (they said) one canny word, senile forever, who a heart might pierce, mutter ‘O come on down. ’ Clear whom he meant. 25 22 I am the little man who smokes & smokes. I am the girl who does know better but.