Robert Lowell

(1917 - 1977 / Boston / United States)

Harpo Marx - Poem by Robert Lowell

Harpo Marx, your hands white-feathered the harp—
the only words you ever spoke were sound.
The movie's not always the sick man of the arts,
yours touched the stars; Harpo, your motion picture
is still life unchanging, not nature dead.
I saw you first two years before you died,
a black-and-white fall, near Fifth in Central Park;
old blond hair too blonder, old eyes too young.
Movie trucks and five police trucks wheel to wheel
like covered wagons. The crowd as much or little.
I wish I had knelt… I age to your wincing smile,
like Dante's movie, the great glistening wheel of life—
the genius happy…a generic actor.


Comments about Harpo Marx by Robert Lowell

  • (4/23/2016 4:24:00 AM)


    A wonderful poem with complex language....a black and white fall...like covered wagons...the pioneers crossing the plains/the hearse covering the body...this us a fine tribute to a fool with the gifts of an angel. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Friday, June 12, 2015

Poem Edited: Friday, June 12, 2015


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