ebishopbot's profile picture. poetry & translations by elizabeth bishop | header by anonymous, on "one art" | bot by @keatonomy | not affiliated w/ bishop's estate; please don't sue!

elizabeth bishop bot

@ebishopbot

poetry & translations by elizabeth bishop | header by anonymous, on "one art" | bot by @keatonomy | not affiliated w/ bishop's estate; please don't sue!

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[ hello, new followers! your friendly neighborhood admin here. if you like this account & would like to see more, I'd love to buy more bishop books and have, you know, student loans, so... ko-fi.com/mildlydiscoura… venmo: mildlydiscouraging cashapp: $milddisc ]


At night, a grog à l'américaine


the fountain is in the dark


Do I deserve this? I suppose I must. I wouldn't be here otherwise.


yes in a crazy house


the headlines wrote themselves, see, on the streets


It is like what we imagine knowledge to be: dark, salt, clear, moving, utterly free, drawn from the cold hard mouth of the world, derived from the rocky breasts forever, flowing and drawn, and since our knowledge is historical, flowing, and flown.


The Lent trees had shed all their petals: wet, stuck, purple, among the dead-eye pearls.


I wouldn't be here otherwise.


Do I deserve this? I suppose I must.


his shuddering insights, beyond his control, touching him.


homely as a house (or, safe as houses)


(second of unbroken nightlong sleep Misunderstood by day)


I stared and stared and victory filled up the little rented boat


in lovely hell-green flames


I will love but not impose my feelings. I will serve and serve with lute or I will not say anything.


open to every wind from the pink desert.


This is a day when truths will out, perhaps;


As we approach, wickedest clown, your heart and head, we can see that glittering arrangement of your brain consists, now, of mermaid-like, seated, ravishing sirens


Our visions coincided—"visions" is too serious a word—our looks, two looks: art "copying from life" and life itself, life and the memory of it so compressed they've turned into each other.


He felt in modesty his person was half looking-glass, for why should he be doubled?


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