Peter’sfaceistranquil,
thatworethebestdreams.
AndJohn’snolongeraliar.
Thegarden’sbecomefantastic.
Theflowersaregraybadges.
Andthesand,beneathdeadfeet,
isanoceanoffog.
Inthesemicircleofarmchairs
acertainmovementisnoticed.
Thechildrenarechangingplaces,
butnoiselessly!it’sapicture.
Twentyyearsisalongtime.
Itcanformanyimage.
Ifonefacestartstowither,
anotherpresentsitself,smiling.
Alltheseseatedstrangers,
myrelations?Idon’tbelieveit.
They’reguestsamusingthemselves
inararely-openedparlor.
Familyfeaturesremain
lostintheplayofbodies.
Butthere’senoughtosuggest
thatabodyisfullofsurprises.
Theframeofthisfamilyportrait
holdsitspersonagesinvain.
They’retherevoluntarily,
they’dknowhow—ifneedbe—tofly.
Theycouldrefinethemselves
intheroom’schiaroscuro,
liveinsidethefurniture
orthepocketsofoldwaistcoats.
Thehousehasmanydrawers,
papers,longstaircases.
Whenmatterbecomesannoyed,
whoknowsthemaliceofthings?
Theportraitdoesnotreply,
itstares;inmydustyeyes
itcontemplatesitself.
Thelivinganddeadrelations
multiplyintheglass.
Idon’tdistinguishthose
thatwentawayfromthose
thatstay.Ionlyperceive
thestrangeideaoffamily
travellingthroughtheflesh.
1972
SonnetofIntimacy
( ViníciusdeMoraes)
Farmafternoons,there’smuchtoomuchblueair.
Igooutsometimes,followthepasturetrack,
Chewingabladeofstickygrass,chestbare,
Inthreadbarepajamasofthreesummersback,
Tothelittlerivuletsintheriver-bed
Foradrinkofwater,coldandmusical,
AndifIspotinthebrushaglowofred,
Araspberry,spititsbloodatthecorral.
Thesmellofcowmanureisdelicious.
Thecattlelookatmeunenviously
Andwhentherecomesasuddenstreamandhiss
Accompaniedbyalooknotunmalicious,
Allofus,animals,unemotionally
Partaketogetherofapleasantpiss.
1971
FourSambas
( Anonymous)
[In Rio de Janeiro, dozens of new sambas are composed for each year’s Carnival. Although sambas concerning love outnumber all others, there are always some about world events, such as landing on the moon, and Brazilian politicsandlifeingeneral.Thissamplingfrom1965,ayearafterthe“rightist”
revolution,commentson,orpokesfunatpowerfailures,governmentturnovers, andthehopelesslybadurbantrains.]
RiodeJaneiro,
Myjoyandmydelight!
BydayIhavenowater,
BynightIhavenolight.
Kickhimoutofoffice!
He’sagreedyboy!
I’venothingtoinvestigate,
WhatIwantisjoy!
Justicehasarrived.
“Pull”won’tworkagain.
SomehavefledtoUruguay;
SomehavefledtoSpain!
Marshál,IllustriousMarshál, *
Considertheproblem
OfthesuburbsontheCentrál!
I’msorryforpoorJuvenál,
HangingintheoldCentrál
Allyearlong…
HeworksinLeblon
AndlivesinDelight†
Andgetstoworkmornings
Lateatnight.
Oh,Marshál!
Come,mymulata,
Takemeback!
You’rethejoker
Inmypack,
Thepruneinmypudding,
Pepperinmypie,
Mypackageofpeanuts,
Themooninmysky.
1965/1975
TheKeyofWater
( OctavioPaz)
AfterRishikesh
theGangesisstillgreen.
Theglasshorizon
breaksamongthepeaks.
Wewalkuponcrystals.
Aboveandbelow
greatgulfsofcalm.
Inthebluespaces
whiterocks,blackclouds.
Yousaid:
Lepaysestpleindesources.
ThatnightIlavedmyhandsinyourbreasts.
1972
TranslatedbyElizabethBishopwiththeauthor.
AlongGaleanaStreet
( OctavioPaz)
Hammerspoundthereabove
pulverizedvoices
Fromthetopoftheafternoon
thebuilderscomestraightdown
We’rebetweenblueandgoodevening
herebeginvacantlots
Apalepuddlesuddenlyblazes
theshadeofthehummingbirdignitesit
Reachingthefirsthouses
thesummeroxidizes
Someonehasclosedthedoorsomeone
speakswithhisshadow
ItdarkensThere’snooneinthestreetnow
noteventhisdog
scaredtowalkthroughitalone
One’safraidtocloseone’seyes
Mexico,18June1971
1972
TranslatedbyElizabethBishopwiththeauthor.
TheGrove
( OctavioPaz)
Enormousandsolid
butswaying,
beatenbythewinds
butchained
tothesoil,
murmurofmillionsofleaves
againstthewindow:
theinextricable
mass
wovendarkgreenbranches
anddazzlingspaces.
Fallen
intothesenets
there’samaterial
violent,resplendent,
ananimal
wrathfulandswift,
nowimmobile,
lightthatlightsitself
toextinguishitself.
Totheleft,abovethewall,
moreideathancolor,
theblueblueofabasin
edgedroundbylargerocks,
crumbling,
sandsilentlyprecipitated
intothefunnelofthegrove.
Inthecentral
part
thickdropsofink
spattered
onasheetofpaperinflamedbythewest,
black
there,almostentirely,
inthefarsoutheast,
wherethehorizonbreaksdown.
Thegrove
turnscopper,shines.
Threeblackbirds
passthroughtheblazeandreappear,
unharmed,
inanemptiness:neitherlightnorshade.
Vegetation
onfireforitsdissolution.
Inthehouses
lightsarelit.
Inthewindow
theskygathers.
Initswallsoftile
thepatio
growsmoreandmore
secluded:
itperfects
itsreality.
Andnow
ontheopaquecement
nothingbut
sackfulsofshadow
thetrash-can,
&nb
sp; theemptyflower-pot.
Spacecloses
overitself:
inhuman.
Littlebylittle,thenamespetrify.
Cambridge,England,28July1970
1972
TranslatedbyElizabethBishopwiththeauthor.
JanuaryFirst
( OctavioPaz)
Theyear’sdoorsopen
likethoseoflanguage,
towardtheunknown.
Lastnightyoutoldme:
tomorrow
weshallhavetothinkupsigns,
sketchalandscape,fabricateaplan
onthedoublepage
ofdayandpaper.
Tomorrow,weshallhavetoinvent,
oncemore,
therealityofthisworld.
Iopenedmyeyeslate.
Forasecondofasecond
IfeltwhattheAztecfelt,
onthecrestofthepromontory,
lyinginwait
fortime’suncertainreturn
throughcracksinthehorizon.
Butno,theyearhadreturned.
Itfilledalltheroom
andmylookalmosttouchedit.
Time,withnohelpfromus,
hadplaced
inexactlythesameorderasyesterday
housesintheemptystreet,
snowonthehouses,
silenceonthesnow.
Youwerebesideme,
stillasleep.
Thedayhadinventedyou
butyouhadn’tyetaccepted
beinginventedbytheday.
—Norpossiblymybeinginvented,either.
Youwereinanotherday.
Youwerebesideme
andIsawyou,likethesnow,
asleepamongappearances.
Time,withnohelpfromus,
inventshouses,streets,trees
andsleepingwomen.
Whenyouopenyoureyes
we’llwalk,oncemore,
amongthehoursandtheirinventions.
We’llwalkamongappearances
andbearwitnesstotimeanditsconjugations.
Perhapswe’llopentheday’sdoors.
Andthenweshallentertheunknown.
Cambridge,Mass.,1January1975
1975
TranslatedbyElizabethBishopwiththeauthor.
APPENDIXI:SelectedUnpublishedManuscriptPoems
APPENDIXII:ContentsofElizabethBishop’sBooksof
PoetryonFirstPublication,1946–1977
IndexofTitlesandFirstLines
APPENDIXI:SelectedUnpublished
ManuscriptPoems
ANOTEONTHETEXT
Elizabeth Bishop foresaw that some of her uncompleted work might be published after her death. Her will grants her literary executors “power to determine whether any of my unpublished manuscripts and papers shall be published and, if so, to see them through the press.” The selection here was made in consultation with Frank Bidart, her surviving literary executor, and Jonathan Galassi, her publisher. The poems are reproduced in facsimile so that the reader can see exactly how finished, or unfinished, Bishop left them. Each facsimileisaccompaniedbystraightforwardtranscriptionofthepoemthepage contains.Titleshavebeenregularized.Instructionsastorevisionsarefollowed where these can be confidently interpreted. Canceled words (indicated with a strike-through) and marginal alternatives (enclosed in square brackets) are retained only where such questions appear unresolved. Additional words, phrases, and lines appearing in the margins on the manuscript page have not beentranscribed.
Drafts of unpublished poems by Elizabeth Bishop in this edition are drawn from the Vassar College Libraries Special Collections (hereafter Vassar), the Houghton Library at Harvard University (hereafter Houghton), the Rosenbach MuseumandLibrary(hereafterRosenbach),andtwoprivatecollections.
Good-Bye—
Youareleavingtheearth
butonlyalittledistance
ahairsbreadth,yourflight—
orashort/curving/hairofyourhead
laidontheearth,woulddescribeit—
butjustthatmuchissohardtodo,
ithascostotherpeoplecenturiesofeffort
andiscostinguscenturiesofgrief.
Inthehot,crowded,terminal
webothlooksmaller,older,
yourgabardinesuitlooksshabbier.
Haveamartini.Thegreateffortisyettobegin.
Oureyesbleary&//
slightlytearful
wemadelistsonahalf-wetpapernapkin—
Whatarewe,inthismob,
inthisnoisyrestaurant—
justatthemistywindow
the/slick/heavywingsslow
itwantsto/migrate/
holdon
holdon,asIloseyou—
Dated by Vassar “[1931–34]” (Vassar 64.3); published in Edgar Allan Poe & TheJuke-Box. Duetothestateofthemanuscript,somewordsarebarelylegible (and are enclosed in slashes in the transcription). In line 4, Alice Quinn offers
“curly”; in line 11, “you’re” has been read as “your”; no satisfactory interpretationofthewordinline13hasbeenfound;inline19,Quinnalsooffers
“slick”;inline20,Quinnoffers“negotiate.”
“Wewenttothedarkcaveofthestreet-corner…”
Wewenttothedarkcaveofthestreet-corner
Andthekioskwasbare.
Acoldwinddrovethepeopleoffthestreets
Thenblewtheirdoorsajar.
Buttwowhite-facedangel-newsboys
Withblackmouthswerethere,
Withtheirspeckledwing-sheavesofnewspapers,
Andtheyprophesied“War!War!”
Thenwenoticedabrightlight
Attheendofthestreetwherewestood,
AndwesawthatthestreetstretchedtoAfrica
WherearoundAfricansunburnedred.
ThereinthehotsandsoftheCircus
Sad,sand-coloredlionsstood,
AndinthemiddleoftheCircuswas
AnancientRomanfountain,filledwithblood.
Dated in Bishop’s hand “1935 36?” (Vassar 72A.2, p. 50); published in Edgar AllanPoe&TheJuke-Box.
ToBeWrittenontheMirrorinWhitewash
Iliveonlyhere,betweenyoureyesandyou,
ButIliveinyourworld,WhatdoIdo?
—Collectnointerest—otherwisewhatIcan;
Aboveall,Iamnotthatstaringman.
c. 1937 (Vassar 75.46, p.50). Another copy was enclosed in an envelope to Marianne Moore on November 5, 1937, without a covering letter (Rosenbach, V:04:31);publishedin TheCompletePoems,1927–1979.
TheStreetbytheCemetery
Thepeopleonlittleverandahsinthemoonlight
arelookingatthegraveyard
likepassengersonship-board.
Howdidithappenonthiswarm&brilliantnight
thatsteeragepassengers
weregivendeck-chairs?
Theyareadmiringthelongrowofwhiteoleanders
insidethegraveyardpaling.
Themoongoessailing,
andhypnotizedtheysitontheverandahs
withnothingmuchtosay
totheneighborsthreefeetaway.
Thegravestonesdonotmove;butintheblendedmotions
oftheoleander
itswhiteblossomsstir
likepiecesofpaperinthosedarkaccumulations
floatinginacluster
inthedirtyharbor.
c.1941(Vassar75.4b,p.227);publishedin EdgarAllanPoe&TheJuke-Box.
ForA.B.
Thepalechildwithsilverhair
Satonthesofaallafternoon
AndinthesoftestSouthernaccent
ReadHansChristianAndersen,
Andlaughedhalf-scaredandtoohigh-pitched
Showingpallidlittlegums;
CriedbecausetheSnow-Queencame,
Hertempleshollowedwithbaddreams,
Weptfortheinterruptedstory:
Thewoodsman’schildwhogrewsoweary,
ThePrincessdressedinwhite,theorphan,
Thechildwhodiedandlayinthewhitecoffin.
c. 1930s (Vassar 75.4, p. 233); published in EdgarAllanPoe&TheJuke-Box.
“A.B.”isArthurBulmer.
“Itismarvelloustowakeuptogether…”
Itismarvelloustowakeuptogether
Atthesameminute;marvelloustohear
Therainbeginsuddenlyallovertheroof,
Tofeeltheairsuddenlyclear
Asifelectricityhadpassedthroughit
Fromablackmeshofwiresinthesky.
Allovertherooftherainhisses,
Andbelow,thelightfallingofkisses.
Anelectricalstormiscomingormovingaway;
Itisthepricklingairthatwakesusup.
Iflightningstruckthehousenow,itwouldrun
Fromthefourbluechinaballsontop
Downtheroofanddowntherodsallaroundus,
Andweimaginedreamily
Howthewholehousecaughtinabird-cageoflightning
Wouldbequitedelightfulratherthanfrightening;
Andfromthesamesimplifiedpointofview
Ofnightandlyingflatonone’sback
Allthingsmightchangeequallyeasily,
Sincealwaystowarnustheremustbetheseblack
Electricalwiresdangling.Withoutsurprise
Theworldmightchangetosomethingquitedifferent,
Astheairchangesorthelightningcomeswithoutourblinking,
Changeasourkissesarechangingwithoutourthinking.
c.1941–46(Vassar75.2);publishedin EdgarAllanPoe&TheJuke-Box.
EdgarAllanPoe&TheJuke-Box
Easilythroughthedarkenedroom
themusicfalls;thejuke-boxburns.