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Best Famous Charles Simic Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Charles Simic poems. This is a select list of the best famous Charles Simic poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Charles Simic poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Charles Simic poems.

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Written by Charles Simic | |

Hotel Insomnia

 I liked my little hole,
Its window facing a brick wall.
Next door there was a piano.
A few evenings a month a crippled old man came to play "My Blue Heaven.
" Mostly, though, it was quiet.
Each room with its spider in heavy overcoat Catching his fly with a web Of cigarette smoke and revery.
So dark, I could not see my face in the shaving mirror.
At 5 A.
M.
the sound of bare feet upstairs.
The "Gypsy" fortuneteller, Whose storefront is on the corner, Going to pee after a night of love.
Once, too, the sound of a child sobbing.
So near it was, I thought For a moment, I was sobbing myself.


Written by Charles Simic | |

Private Eye

 To find clues where there are none,
That's my job now, I said to the
Dictionary on my desk.
The world beyond My window has grown illegible, And so has the clock on the wall.
I may strike a match to orient myself In the meantime, there's the heart Stopping hush as the building Empties, the elevators stop running, The grains of dust stay put.
Hours of quiescent sleuthing Before the Madonna with the mop Shuffles down the long corridor Trying doorknobs, turning mine.
That's just little old me sweating In the customer's chair, I'll say.
Keep your nose out of it.
I'm not closing up till he breaks.


Written by Charles Simic | |

Country Fair

 for Hayden Carruth

If you didn't see the six-legged dog,
It doesn't matter.
We did, and he mostly lay in the corner.
As for the extra legs, One got used to them quickly And thought of other things.
Like, what a cold, dark night To be out at the fair.
Then the keeper threw a stick And the dog went after it On four legs, the other two flapping behind, Which made one girl shriek with laughter.
She was drunk and so was the man Who kept kissing her neck.
The dog got the stick and looked back at us.
And that was the whole show.


More great poems below...

Written by Charles Simic | |

Poem Without A Title

 I say to the lead
Why did you let yourself
Be cast into a bullet?
Have you forgotten the alchemists?
Have you given up hope
In turning into gold?

Nobody answers.
Lead.
Bullet.
With names Such as these The sleep is deep and long.


Written by Charles Simic | |

The Supreme Moment

 As an ant is powerless 
Against a raised boot, 
And only has an instant 
To have a bright idea or two.
The black boot so polished, He can see himself Reflected in it, distorted, Perhaps made larger Into a huge monster ant Shaking his arms and legs Threateningly? The boot may be hesitating, Demurring, having misgivings, Gathering cobwebs, Dew? Yes, and apparently no.


Written by Charles Simic | |

Clouds Gathering

 It seemed the kind of life we wanted.
Wild strawberries and cream in the morning.
Sunlight in every room.
The two of us walking by the sea naked.
Some evenings, however, we found ourselves Unsure of what comes next.
Like tragic actors in a theater on fire, With birds circling over our heads, The dark pines strangely still, Each rock we stepped on bloodied by the sunset.
We were back on our terrace sipping wine.
Why always this hint of an unhappy ending? Clouds of almost human appearance Gathering on the horizon, but the rest lovely With the air so mild and the sea untroubled.
The night suddenly upon us, a starless night.
You lighting a candle, carrying it naked Into our bedroom and blowing it out quickly.
The dark pines and grasses strangely still.


Written by Charles Simic | |

The Partial Explanation

 Seems like a long time
Since the waiter took my order.
Grimy little luncheonette, The snow falling outside.
Seems like it has grown darker Since I last heard the kitchen door Behind my back Since I last noticed Anyone pass on the street.
A glass of ice-water Keeps me company At this table I chose myself Upon entering.
And a longing, Incredible longing To eavesdrop On the conversation Of cooks.


Written by Charles Simic | |

Wherein Obscurely

 On the road with billowing poplars,
In a country flat and desolate
To the far-off gray horizon, wherein obscurely,
A man and a woman went on foot,

Each carrying a small suitcase.
They were tired and had taken off Their shoes and were walking on Their toes, staring straight ahead.
Every time a car passed fast, As they're wont to on such a stretch of Road, empty as the crow flies, How quickly they were gone-- The cars, I mean, and then the drizzle That brought on the early evening, Little by little, and hardly a light Anywhere, and then not even that.


Written by Charles Simic | |

Eyes Fastened With Pins

 How much death works,
No one knows what a long
Day he puts in.
The little Wife always alone Ironing death's laundry.
The beautiful daughters Setting death's supper table.
The neighbors playing Pinochle in the backyard Or just sitting on the steps Drinking beer.
Death, Meanwhile, in a strange Part of town looking for Someone with a bad cough, But the address somehow wrong, Even death can't figure it out Among all the locked doors.
.
.
And the rain beginning to fall.
Long windy night ahead.
Death with not even a newspaper To cover his head, not even A dime to call the one pining away, Undressing slowly, sleepily, And stretching naked On death's side of the bed.


Written by Charles Simic | |

Heights Of Folly

 O crows circling over my head and cawing!
I admit to being, at times,
Suddenly, and without the slightest warning,
Exceedingly happy.
On a morning otherwise sunless, Strolling arm in arm Past some gallows-shaped trees With my dear Helen, Who is also a strange bird, With a feeling of being summoned Urgently, but by a most gracious invitation To breakfast on slices of watermelon In the company of naked gods and goddesses On a patch of last night's snow.


Written by Charles Simic | |

Talking To Little Birdies

 Not a peep out of you now
After the bedlam early this morning.
Are you begging pardon of me Hidden up there among the leaves, Or are your brains momentarily overtaxed? You savvy a few things I don't: The overlooked sunflower seed worth a holler; The traffic of cats in the yard; Strangers leaving the widow's house, Tieless and wearing crooked grins.
Or have you got wind of the world's news? Some new horror I haven't heard about yet? Which one of you was so bold as to warn me, Our sweet setup is in danger? Kids are playing soldiers down the road, Pointing their rifles and playing dead.
Little birdies, are you sneaking wary looks In the thick foliage as you hear me say this?


Written by Charles Simic | |

The Wooden Toy

 1

The brightly-painted horse
Had a boy's face,
And four small wheels
Under his feet,

Plus a long string
To pull him by this way and that
Across the floor,
Should you care to.
A string in-waiting That slipped away In many wiles From each and every try.
2 Knock and they'll answer, Mother told me.
So I climbed four flights of stairs And went in unannounced.
And found a small wooden toy For the taking In the ensuing emptiness And the fading daylight That still gives me a shudder As if I held the key to mysteries in my hand.
3 Where's the Lost and Found Department, And the quiet entry, The undeveloped film Of the few clear moments Of our blurred lives? Where's the drop of blood And the teeny nail That pricked my finger As I bent down to touch the toy And caught its eye? 4 Evening light, Make me a Sunday Go-to meeting shadow For my toy.
My dearest memories are Steep stair-wells In dusty buildings On dead-end streets, Where I talk to the walls And closed doors As if they understood me.
5 The wooden toy sitting pretty.
No, quieter than that.
Like the sound of eyebrows Raised by a villain In a silent movie.
Psst, someone said behind my back.
------------------------------------ Poetry Volume CLXXI, Number 1 Eighty-Fifth Anniversary Special Double Issue October-November 1997


Written by Charles Simic | |

Against Winter

 The truth is dark under your eyelids.
What are you going to do about it? The birds are silent; there's no one to ask.
All day long you'll squint at the gray sky.
When the wind blows you'll shiver like straw.
A meek little lamb you grew your wool Till they came after you with huge shears.
Flies hovered over open mouth, Then they, too, flew off like the leaves, The bare branches reached after them in vain.
Winter coming.
Like the last heroic soldier Of a defeated army, you'll stay at your post, Head bared to the first snow flake.
Till a neighbor comes to yell at you, You're crazier than the weather, Charlie.


Written by Charles Simic | |

Summer In The Country

 One shows me how to lie down in a field of clover.
Another how to slip my hand under her Sunday skirt.
Another how to kiss with a mouth full of blackberries.
Another how to catch fireflies in jar after dark.
Here is a stable with a single black mare And the proof of God's existence riding in a red nightgown.
Devil's child--or whatever she was? Having the nerve to ask me to go get her a whip.


Written by Charles Simic | |

Read Your Fate

 A world's disappearing.
Little street, You were too narrow, Too much in the shade already.
You had only one dog, One lone child.
You hid your biggest mirror, Your undressed lovers.
Someone carted them off In an open truck.
They were still naked, travelling On their sofa Over a darkening plain, Some unknown Kansas or Nebraska With a storm brewing.
The woman opening a red umbrella In the truck.
The boy And the dog running after them, As if after a rooster With its head chopped off.