Pfe.tJ l\I Y
p [j fr

i [^J

e

*^ archbishop brushing sand off the white hide
of the sidewalk
startled at the smell of laundered air
unwrapped at the laundromat,

Vol. l/"-3
T MIA, fl(.<)

SWABTHMORE
COLLEGE
LIBRARY

a beggar opens his collar with unmistakable
assurance
an immense negress breakfasts on oysters at sam's,
on her face no hint of death,
a goat has usurped the mayoir's chair! the chief justice
counts goldfish in his chambers,
on the street
a puerto rican girl undresses her pouting Spanish
beauty showing
a false eye, a white mouthful of teeth.
Bagdfc Trachtman
1959

SWAOTHMOREANK

Fragment:3
"If,'Wje''h3^.e and are caught it is far worse.
Stalled into, a knot,fearing, lest disclosed
Slip from madia" fo*rm to formYtoOTrbund-," *
Tongue rotting, the death mask hung on the bedstead with a sweated shirts
Sing sorrow for the hedgehog who saw his shadow
Sing sorrow for the deed done,long done, is done
Sing sorrow if we hide, sorrow if caught.
There was a time when my only concern was to grow thin,
Become thin, find thinness to be lie.
Thinness is a state I can comprehend(quantitftive not qualitative, alas)
Incapable of comprehending more or less;
Jo remind, thinness is there in the clothes of my fourteenth year.
If we are caught, the time of hiding is dreamts
One day the city is a Braque, frightening, inside the head, outside,
Distant yet beyond distant behind the eyes;
The mind not white and gray but all colors
flip insidiously into no color at spinning of the wheel
Itot gray and white,not gray and white, bones gray and white,
All painted,tainted,lore of looking
The dictum—what has become of the dictum?
What has been stated has evolved,
Now it is the mask and we still await a word from the maker of words.
For those under stone the world is infinites
While life lasted, I lived for others!
Now, death come, I have perished not
But in cold marble live for myself;
Flanders mourns for me, she, Tlissa, (damn her) turns,
Sighs for me,
Poverty calls.
Remember when we could walk here—clean and fresh here,
(No fear dear, our hands in a sweating knot)
The beggar no sibyl, our faces not set like a clown's traps
Inside and out, my darling—sleep well tonight;
I sorrow that we must move so close, believe me, I sorrow.
If we are caught, the time of potential hiding is dreamt.
If we hide and are caught, it is far worse.
Robert Kramer