At The Grave of Robert Lowell

Robert Lowell
Poet
Robert Traill Spence Lowell IV was an American poet. He was born into a Boston Brahmin family that could trace its origins back to the Mayflower. His family, past and present, were important subjects in his poetry.Wikipedia
Born: March 1, 1917, Boston, Massachusetts, United States
Died: September 12, 1977, New York City, New York, United States

Poem

Five Poems

Henri Cole

At The Grave of Robert Lowell

On this tenth day of the year, I play Stravinsky
and sip vodka from a paper cup, taking in the view.
Tendrils twining, leaves rippling, guts absorbing nutrients,
brains processing information—all of it is dust now.
He, she, all of them lie under sod, men and women
no longer rivals in love. Bodies grow old and fester.
History is like an Impressionist painting, a variegated
landscape of emotional colors. As night falls,
owls, bats, and hedgehogs come out to hunt.
I take joy in considering my generation. I rewrite
to be read, though feel shame acknowledging it.
Scattered among imposing trees, the ancient
and the modern intersect, spreading germs of pain
and happiness. I curl up in my fleece and drink.

To read the rest of this piece, purchase the issue.

At The Grave of Robert Lowell
by Henri Cole

On this tenth day of the year, I play Stravinsky
and sip vodka from a paper cup, taking in the view.
Tendrils twining, leaves rippling, guts absorbing nutrients,
brains processing information—all of it is dust now.

在墳墓的羅伯特·羅威爾
由亨利·科爾
在這第十一天的一年, 我玩斯特拉文斯基
和吸一口伏特加, 從一個紙杯, 要在檢視.
枝帶著twining, 葉盡, 有種吸營養需求,
大腦處理資訊-全部是灰塵, 現在.

自動翻譯

“At The Grave of Robert Lowell,” by Henri Cole

The Paris Review is a literary magazine featuring original writing, art, and in-depth interviews with famous writers.

THEPARISREVIEW.ORG