Date: 1946
"his brain appears, throned in "fantastic triumph," / and shines through his hat / with jeweled works at work at intermeshing crowns, / lamé with lights."
preview | full record— Bishop, Elizabeth (1911-1979)
Date: 1946
"Just as the ties recur beneath his train, these underlie / his rushing brain."
preview | full record— Bishop, Elizabeth (1911-1979)
Date: 1946
"A ghost is someone: death has left a hole / For the lead-colored soul to beat the fire"
preview | full record— Lowell, Robert (1917-1977)
Date: 1946
"John, Matthew, Luke and Mark, / Gospel me to the Garden, let me come / Where Mary twists the warlock with her flowers— / Her soul a bridal chamber fresh with flowers / And her whole body an ecstatic womb, / As through the trellis peers the sudden Bridegroom."
preview | full record— Lowell, Robert (1917-1977)
Date: 1946
"The State had reasons: on the whole, / It acted out of kindness when it locked / Its servants in this place and had him watched / Until an ordered darkness left his soul / A tabula rasa"
preview | full record— Lowell, Robert (1917-1977)
Date: April 8, 1950
"Then, abruptly, familiarly, and, as usual, with no warning, he thought he felt his mind dislodge itself and teeter, like insecure luggage on an overhead rack."
preview | full record— Salinger, J.D. (1919-2010)
Date: 1951
"And in her ears the little Seashells, the thimble radios tamped tight, and an electronic ocean of sound, of music and talk and music and talk coming in, coming in on the shore of her unsleeping mind."
preview | full record— Bradbury, Ray (1920-2012)
Date: 1954
"The furniture of our minds consists of what we hear, read, observe, discuss and think each day."
preview | full record— Watson, Thomas J. (1874-1956)
Date: 1955
"The courtyards of the inner heart go round / And round, so sure are they / Where they will end; the brick / Convolutions enter and extend / The individual life, and come to end."
preview | full record— Miles, Josephine (1911-1985)
Date: 1956
"'Can there be such stubbornness-- / A soul grown feverish, clutching its dead body-tree / Like a last storm-crossed leaf? "
preview | full record— Plath, Sylvia (1932-1963)