Poems List

Seascape

Seascape


This celestial seascape, with white herons got up as angels,
flying high as they want and as far as they want sidewise
in tiers and tiers of immaculate reflections;
the whole region, from the highest heron
down to the weightless mangrove island
with bright green leaves edged neatly with bird-droppings
like illumination in silver,
and down to the suggestively Gothic arches of the mangrove roots
and the beautiful pea-green back-pasture
where occasionally a fish jumps, like a wildflower
in an ornamental spray of spray;
this cartoon by Raphael for a tapestry for a Pope:
it does look like heaven.
But a skeletal lighthouse standing there
in black and white clerical dress,
who lives on his nerves, thinks he knows better.
He thinks that hell rages below his iron feet,
that that is why the shallow water is so warm,
and he knows that heaven is not like this.
Heaven is not like flying or swimming,
but has something to do with blackness and a strong glare
and when it gets dark he will remember something
strongly worded to say on the subject.
1,316

Love Lies Sleeping

Love Lies Sleeping

Earliest morning, switching all the tracks


that cross the sky from cinder star to star,
coupling the ends of streets
to trains of light.


now draw us into daylight in our beds;


and clear away what presses on the brain:
put out the neon shapes
that float and swell and glare


down the gray avenue between the eyes


in pinks and yellows, letters and twitching signs.
Hang-over moons, wane, wane!
From the window I see


an immense city, carefully revealed,


made delicate by over-workmanship,
detail upon detail,
cornice upon facade,


reaching up so languidly up into


a weak white sky, it seems to waver there.
(Where it has slowly grown
in skies of water-glass


from fused beads of iron and copper crystals,


the little chemical "garden" in a jar
trembles and stands again,
pale blue, blue-green, and brick.)


The sparrows hurriedly begin their play.


Then, in the West, "Boom!" and a cloud of smoke.
"Boom!" and the exploding ball
of blossom blooms again.


(And all the employees who work in a plants


where such a sound says "Danger," or once said "Death,"
turn in their sleep and feel
the short hairs bristling


on backs of necks.) The cloud of smoke moves off.


A shirt is taken of a threadlike clothes-line.
Along the street below
the water-wagon comes


throwing its hissing, snowy fan across


peelings and newspapers. The water dries
light-dry, dark-wet, the pattern
of the cool watermelon.


I hear the day-springs of the morning strike
from stony walls and halls and iron beds,



scattered or grouped cascades,
alarms for the expected:


queer cupids of all persons getting up,


whose evening meal they will prepare all day,
you will dine well
on his heart, on his, and his,


so send them about your business affectionately,


dragging in the streets their unique loves.
Scourge them with roses only,
be light as helium,


for always to one, or several, morning comes


whose head has fallen over the edge of his bed,
whose face is turned
so that the image of


the city grows down into his open eyes


inverted and distorted. No. I mean
distorted and revealed,
if he sees it at all.
1,069

Until everything

The New Yale Book of Quotations

6
Ports are necessities, like postage stamps or soap, / but they seldom seem to care what impressions they make.
5
Irony is the hygiene of the mind.
6
The austere principles of tact tell the tongue to keep away from the aching thought.
7

Life and the memory of it cramped, dim, on a piece of Bristol board.

Poem [1976]

8

The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Geography III [1976]. One Art

5

—And Friday, my dear Friday, died of measles seventeen years ago come March.

Crusoe in England

5

I’d have nightmares of other islands stretching away from mine, infinities of islands, islands spawning islands like frogs’ eggs turning into polliwogs of islands, knowing that I had to live on each and every one, eventually, for ages, registering their flora, their fauna, their geography.

Crusoe in England

6

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Identification and basic context

Elizabeth Bishop was an American poet and writer. She was born on February 8, 1911, and died on October 10, 1979. She is celebrated for her precise and descriptive poetry, often characterized by a sense of detachment combined with deep empathy. She traveled extensively throughout her life, living in various countries, including Brazil and Canada, which greatly influenced her work. Her nationality was American, and she wrote in English.

Childhood and education

Bishop's childhood was marked by loss and instability. Her father died when she was an infant, and her mother was institutionalized for mental illness when Bishop was five, leading her to live with relatives in Nova Scotia, Canada. This early experience of separation and displacement informed her later poetic themes of loss, memory, and the search for home. She attended Vassar College, where she discovered her passion for poetry and formed lasting friendships with fellow poets. She graduated in 1934.

Literary trajectory

Bishop's literary career was characterized by a slow, deliberate pace of publication, a reflection of her meticulous crafting of poems. She published relatively few poems during her lifetime, but those she did were highly regarded. Her first major collection, "North & South," was published in 1946, followed by "A Cold Spring" (1955) and "Questions of Travel" (1965). She also served as Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress (a position now known as Poet Laureate) from 1949 to 1950. Her later collections, "Geography III" (1976) and "The Complete Poems" (published posthumously), solidified her reputation.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Bishop's major works include "North & South" (1946), "A Cold Spring" (1955), "Questions of Travel" (1965), and "Geography III" (1976). Her dominant themes explore geography, travel, exile, the natural world, loss, memory, and the challenges of perception. She was a master of vivid, precise description, often rendering everyday objects and landscapes with extraordinary clarity. Her style is characterized by its formal control, subtle irony, objective observation, and a profound, often understated, emotional depth. She utilized a wide range of forms, including sonnets and rhyming couplets, but is perhaps best known for her expertly crafted free verse. Her poetic voice is often described as compassionate, observant, and intellectually rigorous, yet deeply empathetic. She avoided overt sentimentality, preferring to let the details of the world speak for themselves.

Cultural and historical context

Bishop wrote during a period of significant artistic and social change in the 20th century. While not overtly political in the way some of her contemporaries were, her experiences living in countries like Brazil during periods of political transition and social inequality undoubtedly informed her perspective. She was part of a generation of poets who sought new ways of representing the world after the disruptions of modernism and the experiences of war. Her travels and expatriate life exposed her to diverse cultures and perspectives, contributing to the unique global scope of her work.

Personal life

Bishop's personal life was marked by early loss and a quiet, private demeanor. Her lifelong friendships, particularly with fellow poet Louise Crane and later with the architect Lota de Macedo Soares in Brazil, were significant. Her relationships and travels often provided the raw material for her poems, but she maintained a remarkable capacity for objective observation, even when writing about deeply personal experiences. She struggled with health issues throughout her life.

Recognition and reception

Bishop received considerable critical acclaim during her lifetime, including the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1956 for "North & South" and "A Cold Spring," and the National Book Award in 1970. Despite her relatively small output, her work was consistently praised for its originality, skill, and emotional resonance. Posthumously, her reputation has grown, and she is widely regarded as one of the most significant American poets of the 20th century.

Influences and legacy

Bishop was influenced by poets such as Marianne Moore, Wallace Stevens, and W.H. Auden. Her meticulous attention to detail and her focus on the visual world have inspired numerous poets. Her legacy lies in her unique approach to poetic observation, her profound empathy, and her subtle yet powerful emotional impact. She is a central figure in the American literary canon, and her work continues to be widely studied and admired for its quiet mastery.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Bishop's poetry is often analyzed for its careful use of metaphor, its exploration of the relationship between the observer and the observed, and its sensitive portrayal of human vulnerability and connection. Critics have noted the profound ethical dimensions of her work, stemming from her compassionate gaze upon the world. Her travel poems, in particular, are rich with cultural observation and reflections on identity and belonging.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Bishop was a highly private person and rarely gave interviews. She was an avid reader and collector of books. Her extensive travels, particularly her long stays in Brazil, deeply shaped her worldview and her poetry, providing unique perspectives on landscape, culture, and human relationships.

Death and memory

Elizabeth Bishop died of ovarian cancer at the age of 68. Her death marked the loss of a singular poetic voice. Her collected poems and prose have been published posthumously, ensuring her enduring presence in literature. Her work continues to be studied extensively in universities, and she is remembered as a poet of exceptional clarity, precision, and quiet profundity.