Djuna Barnes
Djuna Barnes Poems
A LITTLE trellis stood beside my head,
And all the tiny fruitage of its vine
Fashioned a shadowy cover to my bed,
And I was madly drunk on shadow wine!
...
Corpse A
They brought her in, a shattered small
Cocoon,
With a little bruised body like
...
You, with your long blank udders
And your calms,
Your spotted linen and your
Slack'ning arms.
...
What altar cloth, what rag of worth
Unpriced?
What turn of card, what trick of game
Undiced?
...
So she stands—nude—stretching dully
Two amber combs loll through her hair
A vague molested carpet pitches
Down the dusty length of stair.
...
A thousand lights had smitten her
Into this thing;
Life had taken her and given her
One place to sing.
...
Whatloin-cloth, what rag of wrong
Unpriced?
What turn of body, what of lust
Undiced?
...
AND now she walks on out turned feet
Beside the litter in the street
Or rolls beneath a dirty sheet
Within the town.
...
SOMEDAY beneath some hard
Capricious star—
Spreading its light a little
Over far,
...
Lay her under the rusty grass,
With her two eyes heavy and blind and done;
Her two hands crossed beneath her breast
One on one.
...
Djuna Barnes Biography
Djuna Barnes (June 12, 1892 – June 18, 1982) was an American writer who played an important part in the development of 20th century English language modernist writing and was one of the key figures in 1920s and 30s bohemian Paris after filling a similar role in the Greenwich Village of the teens. Her novel Nightwood became a cult work of modern fiction, helped by an introduction by T. S. Eliot. It stands out today for its portrayal of lesbian themes and its distinctive writing style. As a roman à clef, the novel features a thinly veiled portrait of Barnes in the character of Nora Flood, whereas Nora’s lover Robin Vote is a composite of Thelma Wood and the Baroness Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven. Since Barnes' death, interest in her work has grown and many of her books are back in print.)
The Best Poem Of Djuna Barnes
Shadows
A LITTLE trellis stood beside my head,
And all the tiny fruitage of its vine
Fashioned a shadowy cover to my bed,
And I was madly drunk on shadow wine!
A lily bell hung sidewise, leaning down,
And gowned me in a robe so light and long;
And so I dreamed, and drank, and slept, and heard
The lily's song.
Lo, for a house, the shadow of the moon;
For golden money, all the daisy rings;
And for my love, the meadow at my side -
Thus tramps are kings!
Djuna Barnes Comments
Djuna Barnes Quotes
Well, isn't Bohemia a place where everyone is as good as everyone else—and must not a waiter be a little less than a waiter to be a good Bohemian?
The heart of the jealous knows the best and most satisfying love, that of the other's bed, where the rival perfects the lover's imperfections.
I'm a fart in a gale of wind, a humble violet, under a cow pat.
Dreams have only the pigmentation of fact.
The night is a skin pulled over the head of day that the day may be in torment.
Sleep demands of us a guilty immunity. There is not one of us who, given an eternal incognito, a thumbprint nowhere set against our souls, would not commit rape, murder and all abominations.
New York is the meeting place of the peoples, the only city where you can hardly find a typical American.
After all, it is not where one washes one's neck that counts but where one moistens one's throat.
We are beginning to wonder whether a servant girl hasn't the best of it after all. She knows how the salad tastes without the dressing, and she knows how life's lived before it gets to the parlor door.
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