Best Famous Compatriots Poems
Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Compatriots poems. This is a select list of the best famous Compatriots poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Compatriots poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of compatriots poems.
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Written by
Billy Collins |
How agreeable it is not to be touring Italy this summer,
wandering her cities and ascending her torrid hilltowns.
How much better to cruise these local, familiar streets,
fully grasping the meaning of every roadsign and billboard
and all the sudden hand gestures of my compatriots.
There are no abbeys here, no crumbling frescoes or famous
domes and there is no need to memorize a succession
of kings or tour the dripping corners of a dungeon.
No need to stand around a sarcophagus, see Napoleon's
little bed on Elba, or view the bones of a saint under glass.
How much better to command the simple precinct of home
than be dwarfed by pillar, arch, and basilica.
Why hide my head in phrase books and wrinkled maps?
Why feed scenery into a hungry, one-eyes camera
eager to eat the world one monument at a time?
Instead of slouching in a café ignorant of the word for ice,
I will head down to the coffee shop and the waitress
known as Dot.
I will slide into the flow of the morning
paper, all language barriers down,
rivers of idiom running freely, eggs over easy on the way.
And after breakfast, I will not have to find someone
willing to photograph me with my arm around the owner.
I will not puzzle over the bill or record in a journal
what I had to eat and how the sun came in the window.
It is enough to climb back into the car
as if it were the great car of English itself
and sounding my loud vernacular horn, speed off
down a road that will never lead to Rome, not even Bologna.
|
Written by
W S Merwin |
What is the head
A.
Ash
What are the eyes
A.
The wells have fallen in and have
Inhabitants
What are the feet
A.
Thumbs left after the auction
No what are the feet
A.
Under them the impossible road is moving
Down which the broken necked mice push
Balls of blood with their noses
What is the tongue
A.
The black coat that fell off the wall
With sleeves trying to say something
What are the hands
A.
Paid
No what are the hands
A.
Climbing back down the museum wall
To their ancestors the extinct shrews that will
Have left a message
What is the silence
A.
As though it had a right to move
Who are the compatriots
A.
They make the stars of bone
|