Thom Gunn Poems
|5.||Tamer And Hawk||8/29/2014|
|7.||For A Birthday||12/3/2014|
|8.||Painting By Vuillard||1/3/2003|
|9.||To Yvor Winters||1/3/2003|
|11.||A Map Of The City||11/12/2005|
|12.||The Butcher's Son||1/3/2003|
|14.||From The Wave||11/7/2005|
|15.||My Sad Captains||1/13/2003|
|18.||Considering The Snail||1/3/2003|
|20.||On The Move 'Man, You Gotta Go.'||1/13/2003|
|22.||The Man With Night Sweats||1/3/2003|
Comments about Thom Gunn
The Man With Night Sweats
I wake up cold, I who
Prospered through dreams of heat
Wake to their residue,
Sweat, and a clinging sheet.
My flesh was its own shield:
Where it was gashed, it healed.
I grew as I explored
The body I could trust
Even while I adored
The risk that made robust,
A world of wonders in
Each challenge to the skin.
I cannot but be sorry
The given shield was cracked,
My mind reduced to hurry,
My flesh reduced and wrecked.
I have to change the bed,
But catch myself instead
Stopped upright where I am
Hugging my body...
He died, and I admired
the crisp vehemence
of a lifetime reduced to
half a foot of shelf space.
But others came to me saying,
we too loved him, let us take you
to the place of our love.
So they showed me