Harold Whitehall


Harold Whitehall Poems

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Comments about Harold Whitehall

  • John Wright (8/20/2013 1:00:00 PM)

    In the 1960s Harold Whitehall read poems to jazz at a coffeehouse hin Bloomington, Indiana. There is no one I know who so convinced me of the importance of poetry. I am very disappointed that I cannot find the texts of some of his wonderful orignal work. Is there room for it here?

    Too late O any gods for my remoulding
    Flaired flesh remuscled torso tigered thigh
    And taughtened waist might grace me for her holding
    But I reincarnate would not be I
    Chisel no millionth iunch towards handsomeness
    Add or subtract no jot for beauty's drachm
    I who am forged of nuscle thought and sense
    Cannot be more or less than what I am
    Grant me gone body subtler modes of pleasing
    Perceived by her alone
    Grant [? ] and flesh contextured curve and line
    Thar she forsake her me as I her her beyond appeasing
    And guerdening grand illusion grand this dole
    Condescant lips to chamberlain her soul

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