Denise Levertov

(24 October 1923 – 20 December 1997 / Ilford, Essex)

Denise Levertov Poems

1. To Live in the Mercy of God 8/18/2015
2. The 90th Year 12/8/2015
3. At The Justice Department November 15, 1969 12/14/2015
4. Sojourns In The Parallel World 1/3/2003
5. A Map Of The Western Part Of The County Of Essex In England 4/8/2010
6. Psalm Concerning The Castle 1/3/2003
7. In California: Morning, Evening, Late January 4/8/2010
8. The Sage 5/1/2011
9. Eros 4/8/2010
10. Partial Resemblance 4/8/2010
11. February Evening In New York 4/8/2010
12. Triple Feature 1/3/2003
13. News Report, September 1991 4/8/2010
14. In California During The Gulf War 1/3/2003
15. The Quest 1/3/2003
16. Settling 1/3/2003
17. The Métier Of Blossoming 1/3/2003
18. Illustrious Ancestors 1/3/2003
19. Grey Sparrow Addresses The Mind's Ear 1/3/2003
20. The Great Black Heron 1/3/2003
21. Web 1/3/2003
22. The Sea's Wash In The Hollow Of The Heart... 1/3/2003
23. Ein Baum Erzählt Von Orpheus 4/8/2010
24. Prisoners 4/8/2010
25. An Excerpt From &Quot;Mass For The Day Of St. Thomas Didymus&Quot; 1/20/2003
26. The Elves 1/3/2003
27. St. Peter And The Angel 1/3/2003
28. The Garden Wall 1/3/2003
29. Caedmon 4/8/2010
30. Wanting The Moon 1/3/2003
31. Song For Ishtar 4/8/2010
32. Goodbye To Tolerance 4/8/2010
33. Clouds 4/8/2010
34. Ikon: The Harrowing Of Hell 1/3/2003
35. From The Roof 1/3/2003
36. The Well 1/3/2003
37. Matins 4/8/2010
38. Seeing For A Moment 1/13/2003
39. A Time Past 4/8/2010
40. The Springtime 4/8/2010
Best Poem of Denise Levertov

What Were They Like?

Did the people of Viet Nam
use lanterns of stone?
Did they hold ceremonies
to reverence the opening of buds?
Were they inclined to quiet laughter?
Did they use bone and ivory,
jade and silver, for ornament?
Had they an epic poem?
Did they distinguish between speech and singing?

Sir, their light hearts turned to stone.
It is not remembered whether in gardens
stone gardens illumined pleasant ways.
Perhaps they gathered once to delight in blossom,
but after their children were killed
there were no more buds.
Sir, laughter is bitter to the burned ...

Read the full of What Were They Like?

Pleasures

I like to find
what's not found
at once, but lies

within something of another nature,
in repose, distinct.
Gull feathers of glass, hidden

in white pulp: the bones of squid

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