first light will be the last inches and chafes mud-purple shadows bulrush-brown had no tickle blue you see of high mocking irony impatient twiddling another stone dropped how alike to forestall already frowning these sad souls as savant
Folds
Tea (from O.Pamuk)
a promise, a sign for poetry tall for a Turk later on plexiglass panels thought he saw intense, almost instinctive dread the empty windows everything there was to know baring tins of sunflower oil tea and medicine the high price of a glass of tea as if two hard whacks no one(…)
Man with a common face (from I.J.Singer)
buildings came down the Jews turned to weaving walked barefoot, waved sticks rocking cradles with their feet wheat and rye to Prussia a bank of high windows his whistle shrilled the first, the best, the leader cats stalked the pigeons the man with the common face brass buttons lard instead of plain oil(…)
Long procession of years (from T.Hardy)
ochrous haze good frumenty raisins, currents, whatnot as large as lemon pips even brilliantly quarrelsome elbows, seams with the shillings the fair continuing a single big blue sky heavily dewed grass wrapped in horse-cloths ‘that meekness’ that motionless hour a long procession of years pens for sheep
Great elms (from E.M.Forster)
Sorrow to come (from E.M.Forster)
tucking up their sleeves for hours twenty miles of view cheerful trim among the trees that and nothing else ‘in a gush’ suggestion of rain scarlet calico where no one loves him ‘I don’t die, I don’t fall in love’ roared like a millionaire one more wench new clean words bridle Harriet’s tongue(…)
A day in a thousand (from P.Fitzgerald)
eighty-nine shirts his strong sons rows of green mountains burnt carrot powder many times folded ‘it is possible to make the world new’ those short legs cleaned of young turnips even the woodcutter such idiocies in his roomy elbow-chair pale as clay coffee, bread and butter it’s prune oven a day in a thousand convoy(…)
Back from bingo (from C.Toibin)
ÓÓÓconfidence of those roads sad attics a smile from her could be unwelcome would be dust back from Bingo Rembrandt alone never telling Noel played the tin whistle all grace notes half-forgotten now blocking the way green knit cap almost malicious blotting pad and a pen less than no money almost defiant ‘I’ll go(…)
Bosom without nipples (from J.O’Hara)
her own brother the best Catholic families bed-life a bosom without nipples which funeral to go to a classmate at Yale nothing in return someone from home eyes only for David L. Jenkins more than friendship sister Amy married a classmate between her shoulders without her nightgown lace, satin second floor landing helpless persons(…)
