Thom Gunn Poems
|3.||Tamer And Hawk||8/29/2014|
|7.||For A Birthday||12/3/2014|
|8.||Painting By Vuillard||1/3/2003|
|9.||A Map Of The City||11/12/2005|
|11.||The Butcher's Son||1/3/2003|
|12.||To Yvor Winters||1/3/2003|
|15.||From The Wave||11/7/2005|
|17.||Considering The Snail||1/3/2003|
|18.||My Sad Captains||1/13/2003|
|20.||On The Move 'Man, You Gotta Go.'||1/13/2003|
|21.||The Man With Night Sweats||1/3/2003|
Comments about Thom Gunn
It was your birthday, we had drunk and dined
Half of the night with our old friend
Who'd showed us in the end
To a bed I reached in one drunk stride.
Already I lay snug,
And drowsy with the wine dozed on one side.
I dozed, I slept. My sleep broke on a hug,
Suddenly, from behind,
In which the full lengths of our bodies pressed:
Your instep to my heel,
My shoulder-blades against your chest.
It was not sex, but I could feel
The whole strength of your body set,
Or braced, to mine,
And locking me to you
As if we were still twenty-two
When our ...
Painting By Vuillard
Two dumpy women with buns were drinking coffee
In a narrow kitchen—at least I think a kitchen
And I think it was whitewashed, in spite of all the shade.
They were flat brown, they were as brown as coffee.
Wearing brown muslin? I really could not tell.
How I loved this painting, they had grown so old
That everything had got less complicated,
Brown clothes and shade in a sunken whitewashed kitchen.