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The summer demands and takes away too much. /But night, the reserved, the reticent, gives more than it takes
John Ashbery
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John Ashbery
Age: 90 †
Born: 1927
Born: July 28
Died: 2017
Died: September 3
Journalist
Poet
University Teacher
Writer
Rochester
New York
G'on Ashberi
John Ashberry
Jonas Barry
Jon Asshuberī
John Lawrence Ashbery
John Ashbery
Night
Reticent
Giving
Reserved
Much
Demands
Summer
Demand
Gives
Takes
Away
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Once a happy old man One can never change the core of things, and light burns you the harder for it.
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In the increasingly convincing darkness The words become palpable, like a fruit That is too beautiful to eat.
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A perfect example of the new republic's urge to drape itself with the togas of classical respectability.
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The poem is sad because it wants to be yours, and cannot be.
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Expecting rain, the profile of a day Wears its soul like a hat.
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Extreme patience and persistence are required, Yet everybody succeeds at this before being handed The surprise box lunch of the rest of his life.
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Some certified nut Will try to tell you it's poetry, (It's extraordinary, it makes a great deal of sense) But watch out or he'll start with some New notion or other.
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Part of the strength of Pollock and Rothko's art, in fact, is this doubt as to whether art may be there at all.
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And the way Though discontinuous, and intermittent, sometimes Not heard of for years at a time, did, Nonetheless, move up, although, to his surprise It was inside the house, And always getting narrower.
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Death is a new office building filled with modern furniture, A wise thing, but which has no purpose for us.
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Just keep playing, mastering as you do the step Into disorder this one meant. Don't you see It's all we can do? Meanwhile, great fires Arise, as of haystacks aflame. The dial has been set And that's ominous, but all your graciousness in living Conspires with it, now that this is our home: A place to be from, and have people ask about.
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