Contemporary Poetry Series

David R. Slavitt

• Publisher: The University of North Carolina Press
• Year: 2018
• ISBN:
  9781469644196
• Topic: Literatur
• Subtopic: Poesie

Directly or obliquely, while reading Gibbon or shopping for toys at F. A. O. Schwarz, Slavitt addresses, invokes, or simply enjoys the civilization that has been the poet's true subject from the time of the wandering bards. Upon the foundation of technical mastery, he has begun to build an oeuvre, to assert himself, and, with insouciance and gaiety, to grow into his majority. Originally published in 1965. A UNC Press Enduring Edition -- UNC Press Enduring Editions use the latest in digital technology to make available again books from our distinguished backlist that were previously out of print. These editions are published unaltered from the original, and are presented in affordable paperback formats, bringing readers both historical and cultural value.

HALF FARE: A suite for Evan

London

You mustn’t miss the criminals
in Mme. Tussaud’s waxworks.
You can see their horrible weapons,
you can see their awful smirks.
The waxworks figures there
have a tendency to stare
but it’s nothing to scare you—relax,
for they’re none of them real, but wax.
But when I asked a guard
how to get to Scotland Yard,
and he stood as still as a wall
and as quiet, I thought he was hard
of hearing and that was all.
But the guard was a waxwork, too,
which was terrible of them to do.
Much worse than the criminal crew,
which seemed then to be standing still, you
know, waiting around to kill you,
the minute those guards of wax
had turned their protective backs.

Barcelona

I’d like to own a
little villa
several kilo-
meters out
of Barcelona.
There’s no doubt
but that I’d have a
terrific time
on the Costa Brava.
How sublime
to tell a friend,
“Come as you are,
but with maillot de bain
and perhaps a guitar.”

Rome

Rome is fountains,
Rome is stairs,
Rome is cardinals, saying prayers—
for Rome is churches
and Rome is masses,
but Rome is everyone in sunglasses,
riding around in little cars,
and looking just like movie stars.
Rome is the home of the Coliseum.
Rome is museum after museum.
But what I think about Rome is nice is
the wonderful man with Italian ices.

Florence

You know it’s really very phony
on the Via Tornabuoni
where Americans in much too sporty dress
assume their very casual stances
and ignore each others glances
or exclaim, “How odd to see you,” at American Express.

So let us go from this farrago
(fancy Florence as Chicago!),
cross the Arno and walk five blocks to the west,
where behind Palazzo Pitti
there is really the most pretty
spot, The Boboli. “The Boboli?” (How could you not have guessed?)

Up the avenues of hedges
or along the landscaped edges
of the vistas, one could wander for a week.
There is beauty in God’s plenty,
but the youthful cognoscenti
come to Boboli, to Boboli, to play at hide and seek.

St. Tropez

The proper way
in St. Tropez
is not
to go into a restaurant,
but have them bring the meal you want
to the yacht.

And the proper sport
along the port
is greeting
with a friendly eye
the passers-by
who are looking at what you’re eating.

Vezelay

Hooray, hooray
for the monks who play
the phonograph
at Vezelay.
Masses, magnificats, requiems,
at so and so many RPMs.

It may seem a little secular,
but with the Romanesque,
what misses the spectacular
at least is picturesque.

Paris

Daddy did not want to bruise
our feelings at the Deux Magots,
and let us order something, so
we chose a limonade gazeuse.
Oh, how exceedingly soigné
of Seven-up to sound that way!

The Channel

How odd to be on a train
from England across to France,
for on the train you remain
while also you go on a boat.
A curious circumstance!
The passengers do not change
from train to boat—they arrange
to pull up the boat to the quay
and get the train on that way,
and still in the train you float
across the channel. And I
have wondered ever since, why
you couldn’t transship your car
on the train on the boat. There are
so many wonderful ways
of getting around these days:
on skates on a bike in a car
on a train on a boat—how far
you could get in a couple of months,
with everything going at once!

Vienna

Austria! For Austria
I’m really quite insane.
To have gone, and not to have been in Wien
Would have been to have gone in vain.

Paris

On the second Thursday and fourth are tours,
they tell me, of the Parisian sewers.
You meet at the statue of Lille in the Place
de la Concorde, and from there, en masse,
you go in sewers in boats, with a guide,
and it sounds like a perfectly wonderful ride.

Or anyway, that is what I’ve heard,
But Mother always arranges it so,
that no matter how much I’d like to go,
we seem to hit Paris first Thursdays and third.

Venice

The friendly gondolier named Guido
maneuvers in the canals of Venice,
poling along, avoiding the menace
of the motorized monster, the vaporetto.

For anyplace you want to get, “Ho,
gondola!” is what you shout,
and the friendly gondolier named Guido
will bring his gondola about

and take you across to visit the Lido.
If you ask him to take you back, “Si,”
he will say, and his water taxi
will wait for you. He will ask you, “Dove?”

(Italian for Where?)
And for something of a
treat, you tell him, “San Marco Square.”

There is a church, and, of course, religion s
fine, but look for the thousands of pigeons
flying and strutting about. It’s grand
and if you hold still, they will eat from your hand.

Vevey

In Switzerland, you have to save a
day to stay and play in Vevey.
Near the shore of the lake, where the water is shallow,
you can go for a ride in a little pedallo,
which is a boat you can peddle on,
painted and shaped to look like a swan.
The sky is blue
and the water too,
and the mountains with snow complete the view

which is all there is to this little spot,
excepting the excellent chocolat.

Avignon

When the lights go on
in Avignon
all over the palace wall,
it’s a wonderful sight,
a jewel in the night—
but so is the city hall
which is right next door,
as a matter of fact,
the lovely electric display
gives an undeniable beauty to
the Crédit Lyonais,
which is a bank between the two.
And if a garage were there,
the gasoline pumps would look marvelous
rising up in a brilliant glare.
When I get home, I intend to buy
electric bulbs by the case,
and illuminate our house at night...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Contents
• Item From Norwich
• The Lemmings
• The Enigmatic Death of the Emperor, Alexius—A.D. 1081
• Planting Crocus
• Mozart
• Financial Statement
• Ride the High Country
• Child With Dog
• In Defense of Arcadius— A.D. 396
• Maquillage
• On Realpolitik and the Death of Galba
• Nursery Rime
• Da Vinci Sunset
• F. A. O. Schwarz
• Central Park: April
• The Carnivore
• Stauracius
• A Short Trot with Uccello’s Horses
• On the Washington Wire
• Variations on An Ancient Theme
• Mouse
• Still Life
• The School of Athens
• Epitaph for My Wife’s Great Aunt
• Discussion, Back Home
• The Wreckers
• Colloquy Between Two Kings
• Family History
• A Victory for the Eastern Empire
• Distressed Finish
• Grenade Fishing
• Love Poem
• St. Patrick’s Day: 47th Street
• Elegy
• Cessna 170
• Tree Worship
• Theodoric
• First Snow
• Belisarius
• Speculations About the Death of Eskimos
• Half Fare: A Suite for Evan
• Elegy for Walter Stone