Section: «Poems»
Verse (ancient Greek ὁ στίχος — row, structure), a term in versification used in several meanings:
artistic speech organized by division into rhythmically commensurate segments; poetry in the narrow sense; in particular, it implies the properties of versification of a particular tradition ("antique verse", "Akhmatova's verse", etc.);
a line of poetic text organized according to a certain rhythmic pattern ("My uncle of the most honest rules").
Strayed Crab
This is not my home. How did I get so far from water? It mustbe over that way somewhere.I am the color of wine, of tinta. The inside of my..
© Elizabeth Bishop
Squatter's Children
On the unbreathing sides of hillsthey play, a specklike girl and boy,alone, but near a specklike house.The Sun's suspended eyeblinks casually, and..
© Elizabeth Bishop
Manuelzinho
[Brazil. A friend of the writer is speaking.]Half squatter, half tenant (no rent)—a sort of inheritance; white,in your thirties now, and supposedto..
© Elizabeth Bishop
Sonnet (1979)
Caught -- the bubblein the spirit level,a creature divided;and the compass needlewobbling and wavering,undecided.Freed -- the brokenthermometer's..
© Elizabeth Bishop
Sonnet (1928)
I am in need of music that would flowOver my fretful, feeling finger-tips,Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,With melody, deep, clear, and..
© Elizabeth Bishop
Trouvée
Oh, why should a henhave been run overon West 4th Streetin the middle of summer?She was a white hen--red-and-white now, of course.How did she get..
© Elizabeth Bishop
View Of The Capitol From The Library Of Congress
Moving from left to left, the lightis heavy on the Dome, and coarse.One small lunette turns it asideand blankly stares off to the sidelike a big..
© Elizabeth Bishop
Sleeping On The Ceiling
It is so peaceful on the ceiling!It is the Place de la Concorde.The little crystal chandelieris off, the fountain is in the dark.Not a soul is in the..
© Elizabeth Bishop
Sonnet
I am in need of music that would flowOver my fretful, feeling finger-tips,Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,With melody, deep, clear, and..
© Elizabeth Bishop
Giant Snail
The rain has stopped. The waterfall will roar like that allnight. I have come out to take a walk and feed. My body--foot,that is--is wet and cold and..
© Elizabeth Bishop
Roosters
At four o'clockin the gun-metal blue darkwe hear the first crow of the first cockjust belowthe gun-metal blue windowand immediately there is an..
© Elizabeth Bishop
The Burglar Of Babylon
On the fair green hills of RioThere grows a fearful stain:The poor who come to RioAnd can't go home again.On the hills a million people,A million..
© Elizabeth Bishop
Rain Towards Morning
The great light cage has broken up in the air,freeing, I think, about a million birdswhose wild ascending shadows will not be back,and all the wires..
© Elizabeth Bishop
Visits To St Elizabeths
This is the house of Bedlam.This is the manthat lies in the house of Bedlam.This is the timeof the tragic manthat lies in the house of Bedlam.This is..
© Elizabeth Bishop
While Someone Telephones
Wasted, wasted minutes that couldn't be worse,minutes of a barbaric condescension.--Stare out the bathroom window at the fir-trees,at their dark..
© Elizabeth Bishop
North Haven
In Memoriam: Robert LowellI can make out the rigging of a schoonera mile off; I can countthe new cones on the spruce. It is so stillthe pale bay..
© Elizabeth Bishop
The Weed
I dreamed that dead, and meditating,I lay upon a grave, or bed,(at least, some cold and close-built bower).In the cold heart, its final thoughtstood..
© Elizabeth Bishop
The Man-Moth
Here, above,cracks in the buldings are filled with battered moonlight.The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.It lies at his feet like a..
© Elizabeth Bishop
The Monument
Now can you see the monument? It is of woodbuilt somewhat like a box. No. Builtlike several boxes in descending sizesone above the other.Each is..
© Elizabeth Bishop
The Colder The Air
We must admire her perfect aim,this huntress of the winter airwhose level weapon needs no sight,if it were not that everywhereher game is sure, her..
© Elizabeth Bishop
The End Of March
For John Malcolm Brinnin and Bill Read: DuxburyIt was cold and windy, scarcely the dayto take a walk on that long beachEverything was withdrawn as..
© Elizabeth Bishop
The Armadillo
For Robert LowellThis is the time of yearwhen almost every nightthe frail, illegal fire balloons appear.Climbing the mountain height,rising toward a..
© Elizabeth Bishop
Poem
About the size of an old-style dollar bill,American or Canadian,mostly the same whites, gray greens, and steel grays-this little painting (a sketch..
© Elizabeth Bishop
Invitation To Miss Marianne Moore
From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning, please come flying.In a cloud of fiery pale chemicals, please come flying,to..
© Elizabeth Bishop
O Breath
Beneath that loved and celebrated breast,silent, bored really blindly veined,grieves, maybe lives and letslive, passes bets,something..
© Elizabeth Bishop