—I suppose it was lust / But it was holy and awful.
John Berryman, The Dispossessed: The Nervous Songs; from ‘Young Woman’s Song’
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john berryman, this is a poem written from the pov of a sheep
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Dream Song 14
by John Berryman
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) “Ever to confess you’re bored
means you have no
Inner Resources.” I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as Achilles,
who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into the mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.
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In honor of the finale of Succession tonight, here's the John Berryman poem that has been the source of all the finale titles in the series.
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John Berryman from Dream Songs
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John Berryman, Berryman’s Sonnets; from ‘Keep your eyes open when you kiss…’ (36)
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“There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart
só heavy”
Succession, 04x03 / John Berryman, Dream Song 29 / Succession 04x10
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Dream Song 29
There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart
so heavy, if he had a hundred years
& more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time
Henry could not make good.
Starts again always in Henry's ears
the little cough somewhere, an odour, a chime.
And there is another thing he has in mind
like a grave Sienese face a thousand years
would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of. Ghastly,
with open eyes, he attends, blind.
All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears;
thinking.
But never did Henry, as he thought he did,
end anyone and hacks her body up
and hide the pieces, where they may be found.
He knows: he went over everyone, & nobody's missing.
Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up.
Nobody is ever missing.
— John Berryman
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The Song of the Demented Priest
by John Berryman
I put those things there.—See them burn.
The emerald the azure and the gold
Hiss and crack, the blues & greens of the world
As if I were tired. Someone interferes
Everywhere with me. The clouds, the clouds are torn
In ways I do not understand or love.
Licking my long lips, I looked upon God
And he flamed and he was friendlier
Than you were, and he was small. Showing me
Serpents and thin flowers; these were cold.
Dominion waved & glittered like the flare
From ice under a small sun. I wonder.
Afterward the violent and formal dancers
Came out, shaking their pithless heads.
I would instruct them but I cannot now,—
Because of the elements. They rise and move,
I nod a dance and they dance in the rain
In my red coat. I am the king of the dead.
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All the bells say: too late.
John Berryman, Dream Song 29
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unfortunately now i am thinking about alloran/john berryman. on their own, though, NO vissers allowed
Love it/ Hate it/ Tolerate it/ Would write it/ Have written it/ Would never write it/ Would read it/ Have read it/ Would never read it/ That would be a TRASH FIRE (affectionate)/ That would be a TRASH FIRE (derogatory)/ Squick/ Yay/ Fits with canon (affectionate)/ Fits with canon (derogatory)/ Makes no sense with canon (affectionate)/ Makes no sense with canon (derogatory)
Other: My brain struggles to conceive of any circumstances where Alloran would ever be interested in a non-andalite, but I could see John Berryman having a wild crush on Alloran.
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John Berryman
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