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Each day with so much ceremony
begins, with birds, with bells,
with whistles from a factory;
such white-gold skies our eyes
first open on, such brilliant walls
that for a moment we wonder
"Where is the music coming from, the energy?
The day was meant for what ineffable creature
we must have missed?" Oh promptly he
appears and takes his earthly nature
instantly, instantly falls
victim of long intrigue,
assuming memory and mortal
mortal fatigue.
More slowly falling into sight
and showering into stippled faces,
darkening, condensing all his light;
in spite of all the dreaming
squandered upon him with that look,
suffers our uses and abuses,
sinks through the drift of bodies,
sinks through the drift of vlasses
to evening to the beggar in the park
who, weary, without lamp or book
prepares stupendous studies:
the fiery event
of every day in endless
endless assent.
Elizabeth Bishop
Read poems about / on: memory, music, nature, light, dream, sky
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Click here to write your comments about this poem (Anaphora by Elizabeth Bishop)
Evon Christian (5/25/2007 2:42:00 PM)
Anaphora, the name of this title is so rich and beautiful that I am certain few understand.
An anaphora is a poetical device, if you will-a repetition of words, that creates a sentimentality towards those words.
In this poem the anaphors are 'mortal' and 'endless', so please, reread this poem and pay special attention to those two words.
Elizabeth Bishop was a beautiful genius, and this poem is a true example to that. |
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Elizabeth Bishop
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