Elizabeth Bishop

(8 February 1911 – 6 October 1979 / Worcester, Massachusetts)

Elizabeth Bishop Poems

41. Roosters 1/3/2003
42. Sandpiper 1/3/2003
43. Seascape 1/3/2003
44. Sestina 1/3/2003
45. Sleeping On The Ceiling 1/3/2003
46. Song For The Rainy Season 1/3/2003
47. Songs For A Colored Singer 1/3/2003
48. Sonnet 1/3/2003
49. Sonnet (1928) 1/13/2003
50. Sonnet (1979) 1/13/2003
51. Squatter's Children 1/3/2003
52. Strayed Crab 1/3/2003
53. Suicide Of A Moderate Dictator 2/7/2012
54. The Armadillo 1/3/2003
55. The Bight 1/3/2003
56. The Burglar Of Babylon 1/13/2003
57. The Colder The Air 1/13/2003
58. The End Of March 1/13/2003
59. The Fish 1/3/2003
60. The Imaginary Iceberg 1/13/2003
61. The Man-Moth 1/3/2003
62. The Map 1/3/2003
63. The Monument 1/3/2003
64. The Moose 1/3/2003
65. The Shampoo 1/3/2003
66. The Unbeliever 1/3/2003
67. The Weed 1/3/2003
68. To Be Written On The Mirror In Whitewash 1/3/2003
69. Trouvée 1/3/2003
70. View Of The Capitol From The Library Of Congress 1/3/2003
71. Visits To St Elizabeths 1/3/2003
72. While Someone Telephones 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Elizabeth Bishop

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ...

Read the full of One Art

Strayed Crab

This is not my home. How did I get so far from water? It must
be over that way somewhere.
I am the color of wine, of tinta. The inside of my powerful
right claw is saffron-yellow. See, I see it now; I wave it like a
flag. I am dapper and elegant; I move with great precision,
cleverly managing all my smaller yellow claws. I believe in the
oblique, the indirect approach, and I keep my feelings to myself.
But on this strange, smooth surface I am making too much
noise. I wasn't meant

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