poet John Berryman

John Berryman

#314 on top 500 poets

Comments about John Berryman

  • Michael Walker Michael Walker (7/31/2019 12:32:00 AM)

    His best poem, I think, is 'The Traveller'. The speaker in the poem is hyper-sensitive to what other people think of him. He finds company with the couple who get off the train, so he does too.
    The 'Dream Songs' are not as good at all.

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  • Strange Keith (2/24/2018 12:30:00 PM)

    This guy Berryman makes my itch.

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  • Christopher Amati (9/4/2014 5:37:00 PM)

    I am reading Dream Songs. I cant really like this poetry. I like Lowell so much, I thought I could eventually like Berryman, but no. Lowell is sculptural, so dramatic and so inventive. Berryman just seems kind of...whiny

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  • Kenneth Belknap (4/1/2011 10:37:00 PM)

    Came here just to find some of the Dream Songs. Are there lots of poets who are unreadable on this sight?

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  • Aj Pinquot (6/27/2010 7:48:00 PM)

    Is there any way to actually, you know, read the effing poems?

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  • Ravi Avasthi (8/30/2009 11:27:00 AM)

    too early to comment, just opened my account

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    7 person did not like.
Best Poem of John Berryman

The Traveller

They pointed me out on the highway, and they said
'That man has a curious way of holding his head.'

They pointed me out on the beach; they said 'That man
Will never become as we are, try as he can.'

They pointed me out at the station, and the guard
Looked at me twice, thrice, thoughtfully & hard.

I took the same train that the others took,
To the same place. Were it not for that look
And those words, we were all of us the same.
I studied merely maps. I tried to name
The effects of motion on the travellers,
I watched the couple I could see, the ...

Read the full of The Traveller

Winter Landscape

The three men coming down the winter hill
In brown, with tall poles and a pack of hounds
At heel, through the arrangement of the trees,
Past the five figures at the burning straw,
Returning cold and silent to their town,

Returning to the drifted snow, the rink
Lively with children, to the older men,
The long companions they can never reach,