Louis Simpson Poems
|2.||I Dreamed That in a City Dark as Paris||5/25/2016|
|3.||from The Laurel Tree||5/25/2016|
|4.||Lines Written Near San Francisco||5/25/2016|
|5.||The Man Who Married Magdalene||5/25/2016|
|6.||My Father in the Night Commanding No||5/25/2016|
|7.||On the Lawn at the Villa||5/25/2016|
|11.||To the Western World||5/25/2016|
|12.||Vandergast and the Girl||5/25/2016|
|13.||Walt Whitman at Bear Mountain||5/25/2016|
|15.||A Story About Chicken Soup||5/25/2016|
|16.||Apart (Les Separes)||7/3/2015|
|19.||Carentan O Carentan||1/20/2003|
Comments about Louis Simpson
A light is on in my father's study.
"Still up?" he says, and we are silent,
looking at the harbor lights,
listening to the surf
and the creak of coconut boughs.
He is working late on cases.
No impassioned speech! He argues from evidence,
actually pacing out and measuring,
while the fans revolving on the ceiling
winnow the true from the false.
Once he passed a brass curtain rod
through a head made out of plaster
and showed the jury the angle of fire--
where the murderer must have stood.
For years, all through my childhood,
if I ...
Apart (Les Separes)
Do not write. I am sad, and want my light put out.
Summers in your absence are as dark as a room.
I have closed my arms again. They must do without.
To knock at my heart is like knocking at a tomb.
Do not write!
Do not write. Let us learn to die, as best we may.
Did I love you? Ask God. Ask yourself. Do you know?
To hear that you love me, when you are far away,