Winter 1982 • Vol. IV No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 1982 |

Triptych

Palm Sunday Neither the wild tulip, poignantand sanguinary, nor the dandelionblowsily unbuttoning, answersthe gardener's imperative, if need be,to maim and hamper in the name of order,or the taste for rendering adorablethe torturer's implements—never mindwhat entrails, not yet trampled underby the feet of choirboys (sing,my tongue, the glorious battle)mulch the olive groves, the floweringalmond and apple, the boxwoodcorridor, the churchyard yew,the gallows tree. Good Friday Think of the Serengeti lions looking up, their bloody faces no more culpable than the acacia's claw on the horizon of those yellow plains: think with what concerted expertise the red-necked, down-ruffed vultures take their turn, how after them the feasting maggots hone the flayed wildebeest's ribcage clean as a crucifix—a thrift tricked out in ribboned rags, that looks like waste— and wonder what barbed whimper, what embryo of compunction, first unsealed the long compact with a limb-from-limb outra

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In 1983, at the age of sixty-three, Amy Clampitt published her first full-length collection, The Kingfisher (Alfred A. Knopf). In the decade that followed, Clampitt published five books of poetry, including What the Light Was Like (Alfred A. Knopf, 1985), Archaic Figure (Alfred A. Knopf, 1987), and Westward (Alfred A. Knopf, 1990). Her last book, A Silence Opens (Alfred A. Knopf), appeared in 1994. The recipient in 1982 of a Guggenheim Fellowship, and in 1984 of an Academy Fellowship, she was made a MacArthur Foundation Fellow in 1992.

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Keats and the Elgin Marbles

By Amy Clampitt

Palm Sunday Neither the wild tulip, poignantand sanguinary, nor the dandelionblowsily unbuttoning, answersthe gardener's imperative, if need be,to maim and hamper in the name of order,or the taste for rendering […]

Imago

By Amy Clampitt

Palm Sunday Neither the wild tulip, poignantand sanguinary, nor the dandelionblowsily unbuttoning, answersthe gardener's imperative, if need be,to maim and hamper in the name of order,or the taste for rendering […]

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