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Best Famous Has No Place Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Has No Place poems. This is a select list of the best famous Has No Place poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Has No Place poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of has no place poems.

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When You Go Away

 When you go away the wind clicks around to the north
The painters work all day but at sundown the paint falls
Showing the black walls
The clock goes back to striking the same hour
That has no place in the years

And at night wrapped in the bed of ashes
In one breath I wake
It is the time when the beards of the dead get their growth
I remember that I am falling
That I am the reason
And that my words are the garment of what I shall never be
Like the tucked sleeve of a one-armed boy

Written by Louise Gluck |

Poem

 This poem is not addressed to you.

You may come into it briefly,
But no one will find you here, no one.

You will have changed before the poem will.


Even while you sit there, unmovable,
You have begun to vanish.
 And it does no matter.

The poem will go on without you.

It has the spurious glamor of certain voids.


It is not sad, really, only empty.

Once perhaps it was sad, no one knows why.

It prefers to remember nothing.

Nostalgias were peeled from it long ago.


Your type of beauty has no place here.

Night is the sky over this poem.

It is too black for stars.

And do not look for any illumination.


You neither can nor should understand what it means.

Listen, it comes with out guitar,
Neither in rags nor any purple fashion.

And there is nothing in it to comfort you.


Close your eyes, yawn.
 It will be over soon.

You will forge the poem, but not before
It has forgotten you.
 And it does not matter.

It has been most beautiful in its erasures.


O bleached mirrors! Oceans of the drowned!
Nor is one silence equal to another.

And it does not matter what you think.

This poem is not addressed to you.

Written by Wislawa Szymborska |

Tortures

 Nothing has changed.

The body is susceptible to pain,
it must eat and breathe air and sleep,
it has thin skin and blood right underneath,
an adequate stock of teeth and nails,
its bones are breakable, its joints are stretchable.

In tortures all this is taken into account.
 

Nothing has changed.

The body shudders as it shuddered
before the founding of Rome and after,
in the twentieth century before and after Christ.

Tortures are as they were, it's just the earth that's grown smaller,
and whatever happens seems right on the other side of the wall.
 

Nothing has changed.
 It's just that there are more people,
besides the old offenses new ones have appeared,
real, imaginary, temporary, and none,
but the howl with which the body responds to them,
was, is and ever will be a howl of innocence
according to the time-honored scale and tonality.


Nothing has changed.
 Maybe just the manners, ceremonies, dances.

Yet the movement of the hands in protecting the head is the same.

The body writhes, jerks and tries to pull away,
its legs give out, it falls, the knees fly up,
it turns blue, swells, salivates and bleeds.
 

Nothing has changed.
 Except for the course of boundaries,
the line of forests, coasts, deserts and glaciers.

Amid these landscapes traipses the soul,
disappears, comes back, draws nearer, moves away,
alien to itself, elusive, at times certain, at others uncertain of its own existence,
while the body is and is and is
and has no place of its own.