Winter 1995 • Vol. XVII No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 1995 |

From “Rimbaud”: Hands

                                 for Lou   Beggars are too honest, they disgust me. Blue-white my eyes, skull narrow as a broom closet. I'm like the Gauls, I don't butter my hair. With the splendid disdain of kings, I love all the vices. Bosses and workers, slaves, the hand that writes with the pen guides the plough. History is hands! Will I never possess my hands, be cared for by invisible gods, fed by the sky, entertained by water? Devious tongue, I'm lazier than a toad. Feeble, Christian notes, love song, what was I in the last century? You geniuses at profit and loss, what is the body? Do you recognize your body? Progress is a great god with a mouth and no asshole. The cosmos is a mechanical toy. Chemistry in a teaspoon. The world moves forward, an army without shoes. The revelation of fate in numbers is clear. I can't explain what I mean. I'm not a ditch digger, I don't fix wagons or doors. Drive

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Stephen Berg founded and edited the American Poetry Review. His collections of poetry include The Daughters (1971), Grief (1975), In It (1986), New & Selected Poems (1992), Shaving (1998), and 58 Poems (2013). He taught at Princeton and Haverford College and served as a professor of humanities at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia. His honors and awards include fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, the Rockefeller Foundation, and the Pew Foundation. He received a PEN grant in translation and the Frank O’Hara Prize.

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Hymn

By Stephen Berg

                                 for Lou   Beggars are too honest, they disgust me. Blue-white my eyes, skull narrow as a broom closet. I'm like the Gauls, I don't butter my hair. With the […]

From “Rimbaud”: Happiness

By Stephen Berg

                                 for Lou   Beggars are too honest, they disgust me. Blue-white my eyes, skull narrow as a broom closet. I'm like the Gauls, I don't butter my hair. With the […]

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