Synopses & Reviews
You meant more than life to me. I lived
through you not knowing, not knowing I
was living.
I learned that you called for me. I came to
where you were living, up a stair. There
was no one there.
No one to appreciate me. The legality of it
upset a chair. Many times to celebrate
we were called together and where
we had been there was nothing there,
nothing that is anywhere. We passed
obliquely,
leaving no stare. When the sun was done
muttering,
in an optimistic way, it was time to leave
that there.
-- from The New Higher
Synopsis
You meant more than life to me. I lived
through you not knowing, not knowing I
was living.
I learned that you called for me. I came to
where you were living, up a stair. There
was no one there.
No one to appreciate me. The legality of it
upset a chair. Many times to celebrate
we were called together and where
we had been there was nothing there,
nothing that is anywhere. We passed
obliquely,
leaving no stare. When the sun was done
muttering,
in an optimistic way, it was time to leave
that there.
-- from "The New Higher"
Synopsis
A masterful collection from "the grand old man of American poetry" (New York Times)
You meant more than life to me. I lived through
you not knowing, not knowing I was living.
I learned that you called for me. I came to where
you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.
No one to appreciate me. The legality of it
upset a chair. Many times to celebrate
we were called together and where
we had been there was nothing there,
nothing that is anywhere. We passed obliquely,
leaving no stare. When the sun was done muttering,
in an optimistic way, it was time to leave that there.
--from "The New Higher"
Synopsis
< p=""> You meant more than life to me. I lived< br=""> through you not knowing, not knowing I< br=""> was living.< br=""> I learned that you called for me. I came to< br=""> where you were living, up a stair. There< br=""> was no one there.< br=""> No one to appreciate me. The legality of it< br=""> upset a chair. Many times to celebrate< br=""> we were called together and where< br=""> we had been there was nothing there, < br=""> nothing that is anywhere. We passed < br=""> obliquely, < br=""> leaving no stare. When the sun was done < br=""> muttering, < br=""> in an optimistic way, it was time to leave < br=""> that there.< br=""> < br=""> -- from "The New Higher"
About the Author
John Ashbery was born in Rochester, New York, in 1927. He is the author of more than twenty books of poetry, including Chinese Whispers; Your Name Here; Can You Hear, Bird; And the Stars Were Shining; Hotel Lautréamont; Flow Chart; Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror, which received the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, the National Book Critics Circle Award, and the National Book Award; and Some Trees, which was selected by W. H. Auden for the Yale Younger Poets Series. Ashbery is Charles P. Stevenson, Jr., Professor of Languages and Literature at Bard College. He lives in New York.