The Poet’s Pipe by Louis Aston Marantz Simpson

I am a poet’s pipe,
The modernistic kind,
Not a churchwarden type
But elegantly lined.

Straight stem and simple bowl,
No grinning Gothic skull,
Nor Chinese rigmarole,
Nor buxom Turkish trull.

I read him like a book
(e.g., I know just where
He got this poem. Look
In the pages of Corbière.)

“Cast off!” he shouts. “Full steam!”
Aye, aye. I’m burning red.
Life is a waking dream
Until he goes to bed.

His devils in dark swarms
Fly from my smoking spout.
Bright, intellectual forms
Are hovering about.

And then his light goes out.

From: https://newcriterion.com/issues/1993/5/the-poets-pipe

Date: 1993

By: Louis Aston Marantz Simpson (1923-2012)

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