Latest / The Art of Worldly Wisdom / Selected Poems-Marion Strobel

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Selected Poems-Marion Strobel · The Art of Worldly Wisdom

• 0:01
  Speaker 1: Section one of selected poems. This is a LibriVox recording.
• 0:07
  Speaker 1: All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information,
• 0:13
  Speaker 1: ought to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Selected poems
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  Speaker 1: by Marion Strobel Collectors read by Newgate novelist The Barnacle
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  Speaker 1: of crowds Like a tuck on a finished skirt. Unnoticed,
• 0:34
  Speaker 1: he collected his material covertly, a ragpecker, a scavenger of
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  Speaker 1: words and the gleanings of his hearing. He would costume
• 0:47
  Speaker 1: in his own words and parade before a listener, so
• 0:53
  Speaker 1: that now across the teacup he was telling of his research,
• 0:59
  Speaker 1: of his study, of his deep thought out conclusions. And
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  Speaker 1: the lady connoisseeur of old thoughts bound in new guilt bindings,
• 1:13
  Speaker 1: smiled approval at the finding of another curio to place
• 1:19
  Speaker 1: in her long gallery. End of poem. This recording is
• 1:25
  Speaker 1: in the public domain. The Room is as We left
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  Speaker 1: It by Marion Strobel, read for librivostat org when Youugate novelist.
• 1:42
  Speaker 1: The room is as we left it, but mellowed to
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  Speaker 1: a heightened dignity. The chairs have summer coverings of cobwebs.
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  Speaker 1: The tequid lamps are there, and still the bed SAgs
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  Speaker 1: to the center, and the table throws its weight of
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  Speaker 1: shadow on the spread. Folly to have left the room unused.
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  Speaker 1: You did not merit such a nicety. A ragged ach
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  Speaker 1: of light sifts through the dust, blotches the grotesque of
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  Speaker 1: the present upon the patterns of the past. My hands
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  Speaker 1: are bruised by surfaces. I do not see. My fingers
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  Speaker 1: falter up and down a tracery of years. I sense
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  Speaker 1: the echo of a voice I do not hear. I
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  Speaker 1: am not sure the breath I hold is mine. End
• 2:47
  Speaker 1: of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Anticipation
• 2:58
  Speaker 1: by Marion Strobo read Philibrivox dot Talk by new Gate novelist.
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  Speaker 1: I see myself meeting you. I will wear the blue dress.
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  Speaker 1: It is unobtrusive, you cannot dislike it. And the hat
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  Speaker 1: were the flowers you once said you liked flowers on
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  Speaker 1: a hat. I have bought new gloves and pretty shoes
• 3:25
  Speaker 1: that hurt unconsciously. I will get to your office. I
• 3:30
  Speaker 1: will walk up behind you. Do you know you are
• 3:33
  Speaker 1: getting quite gray? I say your name quietly. You swing
• 3:39
  Speaker 1: round in your chair while you shake my hand. I
• 3:43
  Speaker 1: feel myself in your arms. I do not hear your polite,
• 3:48
  Speaker 1: cordial voice say this is indeed a pleasure. End of poem.
• 3:56
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Spring Day by
• 4:06
  Speaker 1: Marian Strobel read philibrivox dot talk by Newgate novelist. I
• 4:14
  Speaker 1: felt a fool when you caught me smiling at myself
• 4:18
  Speaker 1: in the oval mirror. But later in the day, a
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  Speaker 1: six legged bug taking ten minutes to climb across the
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  Speaker 1: muscles of my arm convinced me of my greatness. End
• 4:33
  Speaker 1: of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On
• 4:43
  Speaker 1: we by Marian Strobel read Hilbrivox dot talk by Newgate novelist.
• 4:51
  Speaker 1: If I suck the flame into my mouth, will it
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  Speaker 1: warm the places you have left so bare? I lean
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  Speaker 1: over the fire, flutter my fingers, damn my fingers down
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  Speaker 1: toward a spark. I am cold and tired. Push me
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  Speaker 1: a little yes. End of poem. This recording is in
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  Speaker 1: the public domain. Let Me play Net by Marion Strobble
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  Speaker 1: read filibrivox do talk when you get novelist, let me
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  Speaker 1: play net and smash it at his feet and laugh
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  Speaker 1: to see his racket at the ground. I'll cut it
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  Speaker 1: lightly so it spins back toward me, while his body
• 5:47
  Speaker 1: like a gargoyle leaning out, sprawls toward the net and
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  Speaker 1: hits the mesh or serve and skim the net to
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  Speaker 1: his left side, and as he pops a backhand futilely
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  Speaker 1: stroke it again to his left side, and watch him
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  Speaker 1: try to take it on his forehand and go down.
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  Speaker 1: End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.
• 6:18
  Speaker 1: The Last Ritual by Marion strobo read for LibriVox dot
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  Speaker 1: Org by new Gate novelist. Let us forget a while,
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  Speaker 1: or may we not drift into yesterday and play forget
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  Speaker 1: for a moment years crowded with shuddering, fears, with tears,
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  Speaker 1: lift hie your hands again, and try to be a
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  Speaker 1: thrush to touch the sky, to fly, dance down a
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  Speaker 1: sunbeam ray bright like the day, tossed from the night
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  Speaker 1: to light. Laugh to the flowers that you you colored
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  Speaker 1: the sunshine anew with dew. Whisper to me youth was
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  Speaker 1: so you too remember and know? Then go end of poem.
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  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Hands by Marion Strobele,
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  Speaker 1: read for Lebrivox dot Talk by Newgate novelist. Hands on
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  Speaker 1: the Keys I saw only hands, and yet her whole
• 7:39
  Speaker 1: life passed before me. There passed as she played the lilting,
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  Speaker 1: joyous waltz. Hands hypocrites that belied the happy notes. They struck,
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  Speaker 1: tapering fingers of nerves, waited with glittering wear tired hands,
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  Speaker 1: where veins throbbed in the hope they might keep still beautiful,
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  Speaker 1: yet too white, wavering wearily on playing the song of life,
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  Speaker 1: when the dirge of death had begun. End of poem.
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  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Two sonnets by
• 8:30
  Speaker 1: Marian Strobel read Philebrivox dot Org by Newgate novelist. One.
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  Speaker 1: Will you not stay away and let me be alone
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  Speaker 1: with you? Or must you always throw the present with
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  Speaker 1: its infidelity in front of my two weary eyes? And
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  Speaker 1: so smear with facts the frail pastor that I have
• 8:54
  Speaker 1: made of all our past, in which I live with
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  Speaker 1: you again again the world defy, and all the cynics
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  Speaker 1: who could not forgive a happiness they could not understand,
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  Speaker 1: Oh love, a bridge stenciled with eyes, I cross to yesterday.
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  Speaker 1: I find our promised land again, and you I do
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  Speaker 1: not feel a loss. If you but stay away, my
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  Speaker 1: you will be clearer than any actuality. Two, How can
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  Speaker 1: I offer you the dull, frayed song of love? I
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  Speaker 1: know each word would stumble on a memory, and I
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  Speaker 1: should see a long, blurred line of faces grimacing upon
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  Speaker 1: a musty curtain of the past. Ah, No, let me
• 9:52
  Speaker 1: be silent. Words would only sound a monotone, A toxic
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  Speaker 1: cloy flow of echoes would sift through and eddy round
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  Speaker 1: my voice, and all the rapture that I feel would
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  Speaker 1: turn into a harlequin and steal away beneath the vivid,
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  Speaker 1: measured hum of mockery. Ah, dearest, may there come an
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  Speaker 1: ecstasy of stillness in each day that you may sense
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  Speaker 1: the thoughts I dare not say. End of poem. This
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  Speaker 1: recording is in the public domain. Anadyine by Marian Strobel
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  Speaker 1: read vilbrivostot Org by Newgate novelist. The days were thin
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  Speaker 1: with longing. There is a warmth in emptiness. My palms
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  Speaker 1: have pressed so long against the fragile surface of these
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  Speaker 1: lonely hours. Almost I touch your fingers, Almost I hear
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  Speaker 1: your voice. I stand in the shadow of your absence,
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  Speaker 1: looking through windows of sunlight. Soon, soon you will be
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  Speaker 1: fashioned out of my longing. You will live from the
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  Speaker 1: breath of my desire. End of poem. This recording is
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  Speaker 1: in the public domain. Little Things by MARIANN. Stroubble read
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  Speaker 1: from lebrivos dot org. By Negate novelist. Little Things, I'll
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  Speaker 1: give to you till your fingers learn to press gently
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  Speaker 1: on a loveliness, little things and new, till your fingers
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  Speaker 1: learn to hold love, the fragile love that's old. End
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  Speaker 1: of poem. This recording is in the public domain. I
• 12:16
  Speaker 1: Give Smiles by Marian Strobble read filebrivox dot org. Ben Yougate, novelist,
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  Speaker 1: You are the reaching out in me, the supplication of
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  Speaker 1: my folded hands. You are the breaking radiance of my hope,
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  Speaker 1: my high desire. I will give you a gay futility
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  Speaker 1: of smiles, for I cannot fill the vastnesses with which
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  Speaker 1: you stretch my life to emptiness. End of powerm This
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  Speaker 1: recording is in the public domain. Without Words by Marian
• 13:02
  Speaker 1: Strobel read philibrievox dot org. When you Gate, Novelist, the
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  Speaker 1: silence thins out, falls away before a vivid stillness that
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  Speaker 1: we press nearer with words. We say our usual ritual,
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  Speaker 1: close the day with laughter, while this stillness spreads a
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  Speaker 1: halo round our nodding heads again, we praise the little past,
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  Speaker 1: praise what is done, cling to the days we've lost,
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  Speaker 1: and lose the hour we've won. End of poem. This
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  Speaker 1: recording is in the public domain. High Dive by Marian
• 13:54
  Speaker 1: Strobel read philibrivox dot org. When you gate, novelist, shoot
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  Speaker 1: from the thought of fear into the air, taught as
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  Speaker 1: if crucified on to infinite space, down through a shaft
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  Speaker 1: of wind, A vivid, streaking void hit the water at
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  Speaker 1: a last brings back myself to me. End of poem.
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  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Marriage Caprice by
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  Speaker 1: Marian Strobel read for lebrivostotleg benugate novelist, Let us not
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  Speaker 1: linger over a good bye. It is not fitting that,
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  Speaker 1: in this too casual life, I, who called you wife
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  Speaker 1: so many weeks ago, should stretch past glory into present woe.
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  Speaker 1: You are not more to me, Leaning now against the
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  Speaker 1: lintel of my door and quavering your stagey never more
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  Speaker 1: to live with you. You are not more to me
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  Speaker 1: than a familiarity of face and figure. You ask if
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  Speaker 1: I remember that Sunday in December? Why treat finality elaborately
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  Speaker 1: weaving an intricate fatuity of size and words about a
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  Speaker 1: simple ending, pretending that we achieve tragedy. Quietly you cross
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  Speaker 1: the room, assume that I am unaware of every beauty
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  Speaker 1: that there is in you. We can be friends. Oh God,
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  Speaker 1: you touch my hand in the accustomed way, and so
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  Speaker 1: in the accustomed way it ends. You do not go.
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  Speaker 1: We are not friends, and so it ends. End of poem.
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  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Miseraire by Marian
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  Speaker 1: Strobel read philibrivox dot org by you Gate novelist. Little Grief,
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  Speaker 1: come with me into a quiet place that we may
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  Speaker 1: play together. Oh, little Grief, warm my loneliness. End of poem.
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  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Kindness by Marian
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  Speaker 1: Strobel read philibrivox dot org by you Gate novelist. Part
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  Speaker 1: the curtains gently, let them fall in finalities of color
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  Speaker 1: after you, let there be no certainty of doors between us.
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  Speaker 1: Part the curtains gently. I hold out my hands, and
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  Speaker 1: my life goes from me. I draw my thought through
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  Speaker 1: a profusion of vanities, and I am not comforted. I
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  Speaker 1: am a sleep walker within this sunlit room. You have
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  Speaker 1: done as I have bidden you, and the act is
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  Speaker 1: heavy with kindness. There is no certainty of doors between us.
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  Speaker 1: I grope for a beginning or an end end of poem.
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  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. We have a
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  Speaker 1: day by marriage in Stroubble read felibrivox dot org when
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  Speaker 1: yougate novelist, we have a day, We have a night,
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  Speaker 1: which have been made for our delight. Shall we run
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  Speaker 1: and run and run up the path of the rising sun?
• 18:18
  Speaker 1: Shall we roll down every hill while I still listening,
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  Speaker 1: while the whispering leaves promise what no one believes. The
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  Speaker 1: hour's poise breathless for flight and bright only a night,
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  Speaker 1: only a day. We must not let them get away.
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  Speaker 1: Don a foolish cap and bell for all is well,
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  Speaker 1: and all is well. Dance through woods, a purple blue
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  Speaker 1: dance in two lanes that are a hidden stem beneath
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  Speaker 1: the beauty over them. The hours lift their shadow form.
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  Speaker 1: How warm? Why do you still stand mute and white?
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  Speaker 1: The day has passed, but there is night. Turn your head,
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  Speaker 1: give me your lips. The darkness slips, the darkness slips.
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  Speaker 1: We could make it hushed and still, if you will,
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  Speaker 1: we could hear close to the ground life, the one
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  Speaker 1: authentic sound, the hours as a startled fawn are gone?
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  Speaker 1: End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.
• 19:44
  Speaker 1: Spring Morning by Marianne Strobel read Philbrivox dot Org Ben yougate, novelist,
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  Speaker 1: Oh day, if I could cup my hands and drink
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  Speaker 1: of you and make this shining wonder be a part
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  Speaker 1: of me, Oh day, Oh day, you lift and swear
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  Speaker 1: your colors on the sky till I am crushed with beauty?
• 20:12
  Speaker 1: Why is there more of reeling, sunlit air than I
• 20:16
  Speaker 1: can breathe? Why is there sound in silence? Why is
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  Speaker 1: a singing wound about each hour and perfume when there
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  Speaker 1: is no flower? Oh Day, Oh Day? How may I
• 20:33
  Speaker 1: press nearer to loveliness? End of poem. This recording is
• 20:41
  Speaker 1: in the public domain. To Night by marian Strobel read
• 20:52
  Speaker 1: from Thebrivox dootleg When you gate novelist. A flame leaps
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  Speaker 1: high in a wind. I am the same. I go
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  Speaker 1: my head high, I flame red blue, Oh tonight, the
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  Speaker 1: sky will be a cry of light. Fire comes swift
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  Speaker 1: as wind come lift me higher. End of poem. This
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  Speaker 1: recording is in the public domain. The Silence Stirs Again
• 21:38
  Speaker 1: by marian Stroubble read for LibriVox dot Talk. When you
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  Speaker 1: gate novelist. The silence that has lain so long between
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  Speaker 1: us stirs again. The rushes bend in shining pathways to
• 21:55
  Speaker 1: the shining end. The air is burdened with the rose
• 22:01
  Speaker 1: that is not there always the rose. I have no laughter, now,
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  Speaker 1: no tears. Only the silence grows big with years. Only
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  Speaker 1: the silence has a touch that hurts over much. The
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  Speaker 1: rushes bend in shining pathways to the shining end. Bend
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  Speaker 1: and close. End of poem. This recording is in the
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  Speaker 1: public domain. The Night by Marann Strobel read philibrivox dot
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  Speaker 1: org Banugate novelist. The night binds darkness round my eyes
• 22:52
  Speaker 1: and makes me wise. The quiet hour's beguile like maiden's
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  Speaker 1: chaste in single file, like maidens who have said be comforted.
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  Speaker 1: The truth of day falls far away and far away,
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  Speaker 1: and all the little gaieties are dressed in colors as
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  Speaker 1: I please, and sadness has a gentle hand. I understand
• 23:27
  Speaker 1: the night bound darkness round my eyes. I was made wise.
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  Speaker 1: End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.
• 23:45
  Speaker 1: I would pretend by Marian Strobel read filbrivox dot org
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  Speaker 1: ben Youugate novelist. Now that between us there is nothing
• 23:56
  Speaker 1: more to say. I would have loud and foolish speech
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  Speaker 1: with you. I would pretend I still adore your voice.
• 24:05
  Speaker 1: Come beautiful, draw near, and teach the way my hands
• 24:09
  Speaker 1: should go in a caress. Should fingers trail as pink
• 24:13
  Speaker 1: feet of a crane they skim the water, or should
• 24:17
  Speaker 1: fingers press their way heavily? Draw near me again? What
• 24:23
  Speaker 1: does it matter if the woods you say are lies?
• 24:27
  Speaker 1: If they be sweet to listen to. Your lips are
• 24:31
  Speaker 1: quite as cruel, quite as gay as ever, and your
• 24:36
  Speaker 1: eyes are honest blue. Oh h be sublimely false? Who
• 24:42
  Speaker 1: are not true? When I'll pretend I love you as
• 24:46
  Speaker 1: I do? End of poem. This recording is in the
• 24:52
  Speaker 1: public domain. Admonition by Marian Strobel read Philibrivox dot Org
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  Speaker 1: by Newgate novelist Come quietly without a word. I am
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  Speaker 1: so tired of the things I have heard. I am
• 25:16
  Speaker 1: so tired of words that tear at beauty till the
• 25:20
  Speaker 1: branches bear, of words that will not let beauty be
• 25:25
  Speaker 1: a sweet, clustered mystery as a Canterbury bell. Purse your lips,
• 25:31
  Speaker 1: but do not tell. End of poem. This recording is
• 25:38
  Speaker 1: in the public domain. Frightened Face by Marian Strobel read
• 25:49
  Speaker 1: Philbrivox dot Org. By Newgate novelist, Child of the Frightened Face,
• 25:57
  Speaker 1: trying to understand the little bit of love under your hand,
• 26:03
  Speaker 1: holding the little love under fingers that crush that which
• 26:08
  Speaker 1: is soft as the throat of a thrush, holding your
• 26:12
  Speaker 1: hand upon the wonder of the thing, crushing out the
• 26:16
  Speaker 1: song that wanteth to sing, Child of the frightened Face?
• 26:22
  Speaker 1: Why do your fingers try to kill the little love?
• 26:26
  Speaker 1: Soon it would die? End of poem. This recording is
• 26:33
  Speaker 1: in the public domain. Daily Prayer by Maryann Strobble read
• 26:44
  Speaker 1: lilibrivox dot org. When you get novelist, and at last,
• 26:50
  Speaker 1: when I go, will it be so? Shall I find you?
• 26:54
  Speaker 1: Behind the rude platitude of death. I kneel within the
• 27:00
  Speaker 1: certainty that you are near to me. Each day I
• 27:05
  Speaker 1: pray that I may follow through to you. Each day
• 27:10
  Speaker 1: I pray. End of poem. This recording is in the
• 27:16
  Speaker 1: public domain. Mon Vois by Marian Strobell read fulibrivox dot org.
• 27:28
  Speaker 1: When you Gate Novelist, The moments reach and touch the
• 27:34
  Speaker 1: hours gently. Each is kind, each is soothing as the
• 27:40
  Speaker 1: tips of fingers held to lips. The moments reach and
• 27:46
  Speaker 1: touch the hours, flowers will bloom again, and I shall
• 27:52
  Speaker 1: pick fresh john quills for the room. And I shall
• 27:56
  Speaker 1: pick fresh john quills in the usual way every day.
• 28:02
  Speaker 1: The moments reach and touch the hours. Time has no
• 28:08
  Speaker 1: beginning and no end, dear friend. End of poem. This
• 28:16
  Speaker 1: recording is in the public domain. Your Sadness by Maryann
• 28:26
  Speaker 1: Strobble read Philiprivoxtel talk when you gate, novelist. Not because
• 28:33
  Speaker 1: beauty is as thin and bright in you as the
• 28:37
  Speaker 1: white outline of a tree in winter, But because I
• 28:42
  Speaker 1: find a delight in the curved sadness of your lips.
• 28:47
  Speaker 1: I see pleasanter things each day, each day recall happy faces, laughter,
• 28:54
  Speaker 1: that knew a way to spin senses to oblivion. All
• 29:00
  Speaker 1: your words are swift upon your lips and gray as swallows.
• 29:06
  Speaker 1: Yet I stay to listen. Yet I cannot tear myself
• 29:11
  Speaker 1: away from you. For in a little while, you may
• 29:16
  Speaker 1: forget your sadness. Oh, No matter what I do, you
• 29:21
  Speaker 1: may forget your sadness, oh, my dear, and even smile
• 29:28
  Speaker 1: and make the mystery clear. End of poem. This recording
• 29:36
  Speaker 1: is in the public domain. Encounter by Marion Strobele read
• 29:46
  Speaker 1: Felebrivox dot org. When you Gate, Novelist, we meet again.
• 29:53
  Speaker 1: You are as brief, staccato in your wonder as a
• 29:56
  Speaker 1: leaf in autumn. It is a joy it has been
• 30:00
  Speaker 1: so long as leaves yellow, red or brown. Your woods
• 30:07
  Speaker 1: flutter down. There is nothing to say anyway. You are you.
• 30:15
  Speaker 1: I can rub my hand against your coat. It will
• 30:18
  Speaker 1: be rough, and my nails will catch upon the threads,
• 30:22
  Speaker 1: and your head will be held high. Your lips will
• 30:25
  Speaker 1: smile for each passer by. You are no mystery to me.
• 30:31
  Speaker 1: I have grown wise with thinking on your beauty. I
• 30:34
  Speaker 1: could let your beauty slip like grains of sand between
• 30:38
  Speaker 1: my fingers, and could find each grain again and hold
• 30:42
  Speaker 1: it in the hollow of my hand. The sun lengthens
• 30:48
  Speaker 1: our shadows into one. We move along, the sound of
• 30:53
  Speaker 1: our feet against the stone pavement, swift and hard, the
• 30:57
  Speaker 1: sound of our feet descending a stair, warm air, fawning
• 31:01
  Speaker 1: about us, laughter that bursts like a red balloon, as
• 31:06
  Speaker 1: soon forgotten. Laughter, warm air, small painted chairs, a table,
• 31:13
  Speaker 1: yellow cups, tea. My thoughts lie like dust upon the
• 31:17
  Speaker 1: bloom of the room. We are together. There is still
• 31:23
  Speaker 1: the singing truth of our youth. We may go as
• 31:27
  Speaker 1: a feather goes beyond the wind that blows it. The
• 31:32
  Speaker 1: days have been so very long away from you. You
• 31:36
  Speaker 1: light a cigarette, so very long, the smoke curls a
• 31:42
  Speaker 1: ring around your suffering. Ah well, your lies are as
• 31:49
  Speaker 1: a warmth of sun pressing the lids over my eyes,
• 31:54
  Speaker 1: and I am tired. I would remember summer that fell
• 32:00
  Speaker 1: as fruit upon the ground, as fruit were held, tasted,
• 32:05
  Speaker 1: thrown away, each day opening its petals to another day.
• 32:10
  Speaker 1: Summer tendrils of heat drawing us down, sweet sweet earth rain,
• 32:18
  Speaker 1: lisping to flowers. Do you still take three lumps in
• 32:23
  Speaker 1: your tea? You smile, lean forward as you speak, shadows
• 32:28
  Speaker 1: shift your hair as smooth as lacquer. Light glides upon it,
• 32:35
  Speaker 1: and still get perfume from pivet. I feel the color
• 32:40
  Speaker 1: in my cheek. What does it matter anyway? The breath
• 32:45
  Speaker 1: of winter blurs the window pane, And if we love again,
• 32:49
  Speaker 1: what does it matter? I would remember summer. There is
• 32:54
  Speaker 1: still the harvest moon. Soon it will be over, very soon.
• 33:01
  Speaker 1: You rise, You are sorry, you must go. It was
• 33:05
  Speaker 1: a joy. It has been so long. We reach this street,
• 33:11
  Speaker 1: and I am swayed as a blade of grasp beneath
• 33:14
  Speaker 1: the wind as the wind you are gone? End of poem.
• 33:22
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. I Talk with
• 33:32
  Speaker 1: Myself by Marian Strobel read philibrivosdottleg By, Newgate novelist. What
• 33:40
  Speaker 1: has been lived between a spring and fall? But summer?
• 33:44
  Speaker 1: Is that not all and not enough? Why should you
• 33:48
  Speaker 1: want for more than the belief that dying every leaf
• 33:52
  Speaker 1: holds magic? For a moment on the air? Is that
• 33:55
  Speaker 1: not all and not enough? Why must you come again
• 34:00
  Speaker 1: for dreams that sing but have no meaning, letters that
• 34:03
  Speaker 1: are a mumbling in the head of words long dead?
• 34:07
  Speaker 1: Come back to a room that draws as a glove
• 34:10
  Speaker 1: over love. What can we say? We must not let
• 34:16
  Speaker 1: silence grow tall and slender. Silence spreads on air, springs
• 34:21
  Speaker 1: up and is tender. We must cut silence from between
• 34:25
  Speaker 1: the words we need. Silence is a weed. Silence is
• 34:30
  Speaker 1: a weed, and words the scythe to cut it down.
• 34:34
  Speaker 1: Words glistening, blithe, that rise and fall, never too sharp
• 34:39
  Speaker 1: and never too rough? Oh what can we say? Who
• 34:43
  Speaker 1: have said all? Yet not enough? End of poem. This
• 34:49
  Speaker 1: recording is in the public domain. Full Blown by Marian
• 35:00
  Speaker 1: Strouble read philiprivoxtottal By Newgate novelist. Laugh for the Moon
• 35:07
  Speaker 1: is low and white, is white and full blown as
• 35:11
  Speaker 1: a lily on the night. Oh, beautiful, laugh for the
• 35:17
  Speaker 1: moon droops white and round, and shadows slide soft footed
• 35:22
  Speaker 1: on familiar ground. Shadows lynx side slide, And you are
• 35:28
  Speaker 1: a shadow too. Oh, you are most strange, face of
• 35:33
  Speaker 1: mist and wanly blue as any ghost. Laugh. Silence hangs
• 35:40
  Speaker 1: clustered in heat, and over all silence will break, Oh, showering,
• 35:46
  Speaker 1: sweet beauty will fall, end of power. This recording is
• 35:53
  Speaker 1: in the public domain. The Gestures You Make by Marian
• 36:03
  Speaker 1: Strobell read for LibriVox dot Org by Newgate novelist. You
• 36:10
  Speaker 1: have no beauty now. Only the gestures you make are
• 36:15
  Speaker 1: intimate with suffering for the sake of beauty. Only. Your
• 36:21
  Speaker 1: gestures are heavy, lidded with the pain of touching beauty
• 36:26
  Speaker 1: to lose it again and again. Your gestures that are
• 36:31
  Speaker 1: as purposeless as butterflies winging across the knowledge in your eyes, purposeless,
• 36:39
  Speaker 1: brittle with loss, yet still curved sweetly, sweetly, they croon,
• 36:46
  Speaker 1: we may touch beauty again, very soon, very soon. End
• 36:54
  Speaker 1: of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A
• 37:04
  Speaker 1: Bride by Marian Strober read Philibrivox dot org. When Negate
• 37:09
  Speaker 1: novelist to d k A, there is a warm shadow
• 37:15
  Speaker 1: that allies within the shadow of your eyes, and your
• 37:20
  Speaker 1: child lips are warm and red, are breathless with wonder parted.
• 37:27
  Speaker 1: White hands may hold the white bouquet, but always lips
• 37:32
  Speaker 1: give it away. Oh you have beauty now, and now
• 37:37
  Speaker 1: you offer it sweetly. The vow drifts pettal by petal
• 37:42
  Speaker 1: across an altar, and you feel no loss. End of poem.
• 37:51
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Die A Log
• 38:00
  Speaker 1: by Marion Strobo read Philibrivox Dottle. When you gat novelist,
• 38:08
  Speaker 1: fold your hands quietly. They are restless with words you
• 38:13
  Speaker 1: can't express. Oh, fold your hands, for I know their beauty.
• 38:20
  Speaker 1: I even know the timid plea of all your fingers.
• 38:23
  Speaker 1: How they tell and tell a tale, I know too well.
• 38:30
  Speaker 1: You used to say they were as white as moths
• 38:33
  Speaker 1: at night, and so they were. But now your face
• 38:37
  Speaker 1: is white and sharp, and the delight I had in
• 38:41
  Speaker 1: it as sharp. Thus we attain a little knowledge through
• 38:45
  Speaker 1: great pain. Why do you smile again? Your fingers press
• 38:51
  Speaker 1: and flutter on your dress, and are again perhaps as
• 38:57
  Speaker 1: white as moths at night. End of palm. This recording
• 39:04
  Speaker 1: is in the public domain. Pitiful in your bravery by
• 39:13
  Speaker 1: Marian's Trouble read flebrivoxtot talk. When you gate novelist, pitiful
• 39:21
  Speaker 1: in your bravery, you stand shielding him. Oh but you
• 39:25
  Speaker 1: are young. You give yourself as heather to a waste
• 39:29
  Speaker 1: of land, and turn the barren soil in which you
• 39:32
  Speaker 1: live to beauty, You who valiantly blow your youth across
• 39:38
  Speaker 1: his shriveled years, and come with your fierce pride, and
• 39:43
  Speaker 1: at the last will go with head un bowed, eyes
• 39:46
  Speaker 1: dark with scorn, like some Diana who has run and
• 39:50
  Speaker 1: lost the race, yet found the running suite. Oh you,
• 39:55
  Speaker 1: as slim and tireless as time, with your child's face
• 39:59
  Speaker 1: and ti hands. Why have you chosen him to shield
• 40:03
  Speaker 1: to love? Why must you be so dull and steadfast
• 40:08
  Speaker 1: in your youth and beautiful? End of poem. This recording
• 40:16
  Speaker 1: is in the public domain. Boomerang by Marian Strobell read
• 40:26
  Speaker 1: velebrivox dot org. When you gate novelist, now age had
• 40:32
  Speaker 1: slipped up behind her, wrapped itself about her shoulders, made
• 40:37
  Speaker 1: her more cold. Now Age was the last reminder of
• 40:43
  Speaker 1: youth she had the only tale it had been told
• 40:47
  Speaker 1: to her, asking eyes and the vain groping of her hands.
• 40:53
  Speaker 1: If at times she could forget, bind leaves about her
• 40:57
  Speaker 1: head again, dance, catch the spar joy of laughter within
• 41:01
  Speaker 1: a net of words. Oh, if at times, on some
• 41:07
  Speaker 1: still moonlight nights she could forget on day's mellow with sun,
• 41:14
  Speaker 1: at last she'd have to come back to her dingy room,
• 41:17
  Speaker 1: Age would be there. And so, knowing no future, having
• 41:23
  Speaker 1: had no past, she hovered frantic till she touched a
• 41:28
  Speaker 1: flame flared for a moment, and was glad found life
• 41:34
  Speaker 1: was changed, only to find Age was the same. End
• 41:41
  Speaker 1: of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After
• 41:51
  Speaker 1: These Days by Marian Strobel read Philipbrivox dot Org by
• 41:56
  Speaker 1: Newgate novelist. Come, let us go into a long quietness
• 42:04
  Speaker 1: and rest. It will be best. It will be best
• 42:09
  Speaker 1: after these full blown days, after these days flushed with
• 42:13
  Speaker 1: receiving and giving. It will be best to forget the
• 42:18
  Speaker 1: heavy ecstasy of living for a while, to be lulled
• 42:22
  Speaker 1: within the crescent of a smile, to sleep, to turn
• 42:27
  Speaker 1: beneath the beauty of a dream, to let our eyelids
• 42:31
  Speaker 1: fall over the weariness of sight, to shut out light
• 42:36
  Speaker 1: and learn again of darkness and the kind suppliant fingers
• 42:40
  Speaker 1: of the blind. Come to a country that is soft
• 42:45
  Speaker 1: with color, Where are green silvers to gray, and yellow
• 42:50
  Speaker 1: cools to brown. Where there are mountains down whose sides
• 42:54
  Speaker 1: shadows up and flow in languid tides of blue and purple.
• 43:01
  Speaker 1: Come be won with sun and earth. Bend knees to these,
• 43:08
  Speaker 1: whisper a new cry of worship to the ancient sky.
• 43:12
  Speaker 1: Whisper a song to the listening air, and find peace there,
• 43:17
  Speaker 1: find peace. Let our eyelids fall, sleep, sleep and dream,
• 43:25
  Speaker 1: sleep and rest that will be best. End of poem.
• 43:33
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Pastoral by Marian
• 43:44
  Speaker 1: Strobel read Philibrivox dot Hog by Newgate novelist. This is
• 43:51
  Speaker 1: a place of ease. Beauty has come to rest. Color
• 43:56
  Speaker 1: is gentle in the trees. The will leaves look timidly down,
• 44:03
  Speaker 1: more timidly back from the brook. Beauty has come to rest,
• 44:09
  Speaker 1: sweet as a sleepy bell. The breeze swings within the
• 44:13
  Speaker 1: close pressed shadows, and the sun falls in little sprays
• 44:19
  Speaker 1: to be piqued by any one. End of poem. This
• 44:26
  Speaker 1: recording is in the public domain. In the tropics, by
• 44:35
  Speaker 1: Marion Strubble Read Philiprivox dot Org by Newgate novelist. Why
• 44:42
  Speaker 1: should we, after all these years, come face to face
• 44:47
  Speaker 1: here in this place, in this too fruitful place. Why
• 44:54
  Speaker 1: did I, a woman long accustomed to the barren sound
• 44:58
  Speaker 1: of pavements, come here to set my feet on ground
• 45:03
  Speaker 1: that has no resonance. I had no thought to find
• 45:07
  Speaker 1: you here, you say. The words hang to the still air,
• 45:13
  Speaker 1: like bees that have not drunk their fill. I had
• 45:17
  Speaker 1: not thought, you laugh, that tropics would appeal to you.
• 45:24
  Speaker 1: We turn and walk together, and the heat twines about
• 45:28
  Speaker 1: our feet, and you beside me are the ember of
• 45:32
  Speaker 1: what was flame. Nature is generous, you go on talking.
• 45:40
  Speaker 1: I have a sense that we are walking on familiar ground,
• 45:44
  Speaker 1: while we poor humans always count the cost. Your voice,
• 45:50
  Speaker 1: drone sleepily, is lost. What does it matter what you say?
• 45:57
  Speaker 1: The trees are far more prodigal than words, the purple
• 46:01
  Speaker 1: flowering trees that bruise the sky, the banyan trees that
• 46:06
  Speaker 1: droop a dusky girth of trunks into the earth. Even
• 46:11
  Speaker 1: the path we walk on blows blithe as a whistle,
• 46:14
  Speaker 1: rush and green. Oh, I can bear seeing you again
• 46:19
  Speaker 1: better than this heavy laden air, This color these overgrown
• 46:24
  Speaker 1: trees and flowers I have never known before. What do
• 46:29
  Speaker 1: you fear? Your voice drifts through to me. Why do
• 46:34
  Speaker 1: you turn your face away? Why is silent? I say?
• 46:40
  Speaker 1: Our footsteps pass unnoticed on this grass? I say. The
• 46:46
  Speaker 1: hibiscus flames too red, opens too wide, with savage red inside.
• 46:53
  Speaker 1: I say, but honors sprawl too much, and there is
• 46:59
  Speaker 1: nothing more to say, And my mind hangs hollow, as
• 47:04
  Speaker 1: a good without a rind. If this is beauty, if
• 47:09
  Speaker 1: the discreet loveliness of flowers can turn flagrant with heat,
• 47:15
  Speaker 1: it takes some time to get accustomed to it all.
• 47:19
  Speaker 1: Now that we are seated, the ground sinks warmly to
• 47:22
  Speaker 1: our bodies, as to something it had lost and found again. Oh,
• 47:29
  Speaker 1: if the air were not so sweet, if sweetness were
• 47:32
  Speaker 1: not everywhere, it takes some time to get accustomed. For answer,
• 47:40
  Speaker 1: you take my hand, you say, empty hands should hold
• 47:44
  Speaker 1: each other. Your voice is softly near and far away.
• 47:52
  Speaker 1: Lean your head against this cedar, so your hair is
• 47:57
  Speaker 1: still dark and lustreless lends with the bark, and your
• 48:02
  Speaker 1: eyes are like those on wings of butterflies that looking
• 48:06
  Speaker 1: do not see. You move nearer to me, high, too high.
• 48:15
  Speaker 1: I watch a poor paw splatter leaves against the sky.
• 48:21
  Speaker 1: End of powerm This recording is in the public domain.
• 48:31
  Speaker 1: Two Liars by Marian Strobel read forlebrivox dot org. When
• 48:36
  Speaker 1: you gate novelist, one was wise. He did not tell
• 48:43
  Speaker 1: me anything. He knew well. Lies turned mellow, become old,
• 48:49
  Speaker 1: and are better left untold, whereas a caress will bear loveliness.
• 48:55
  Speaker 1: Was well aware of this. He was wise, and he
• 49:01
  Speaker 1: fooled me twice, and pleasantly. And one was slow of speech,
• 49:08
  Speaker 1: came hesitant, mumbling my name. Hesitant, awkward, would stare, run
• 49:16
  Speaker 1: thin fingers through his hair and begin, Oh he was
• 49:21
  Speaker 1: pad with words. Oh the words he had, little spangling
• 49:27
  Speaker 1: things that said an adventure Eliza Head end of poem.
• 49:35
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Pretty Penny by
• 49:44
  Speaker 1: Marion Strobel read philibrivox dot org. When you gate novelist,
• 49:51
  Speaker 1: her face was as a coin that had been spent
• 49:54
  Speaker 1: over and over in the same excess as a coin
• 49:58
  Speaker 1: it had been given or leant at times, her little face,
• 50:04
  Speaker 1: the hair that sprayed, and the blue eyes demure and wise,
• 50:11
  Speaker 1: Her face as guileless as a coin's clinking upon a
• 50:15
  Speaker 1: metal table, her smile as enigmatic as a gambler's thinking. Oh,
• 50:22
  Speaker 1: when she smiled, a man was never sure whether she
• 50:26
  Speaker 1: had really been bad. End of poem. This recording is
• 50:32
  Speaker 1: in the public domain. Growth by Marian Strobel read for
• 50:43
  Speaker 1: the brivoxtotalg by Newgate novelist. Once long ago blows were
• 50:52
  Speaker 1: the daily bread he used to nurture you. Yet, like
• 50:56
  Speaker 1: a weed that feeds and spreads on nothing, you were fed,
• 51:01
  Speaker 1: you grew, and now that years have pasted, the seed
• 51:07
  Speaker 1: of pain grows old within you and blossoms, blossoms for
• 51:12
  Speaker 1: all to see, for you to wear tilted quite jauntily. Oh,
• 51:18
  Speaker 1: it becomes you well. Even the rose within your hair
• 51:23
  Speaker 1: is not more foolish, not more fair, than this touching
• 51:28
  Speaker 1: of lips to a once hated cross, dreaming that you
• 51:33
  Speaker 1: prefer a judice kiss to none at all, flaunting your
• 51:38
  Speaker 1: ancient loss of faith, whispering what is it? Strength is
• 51:44
  Speaker 1: for that has endured much, but to endure more? End
• 51:51
  Speaker 1: of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Portrait
• 52:01
  Speaker 1: of a Friend by Marian Strobel read philibrivox dot org.
• 52:05
  Speaker 1: When you Gate novelist, you have been in this room
• 52:11
  Speaker 1: too long. You sit forgotten on the old Rococo chair
• 52:17
  Speaker 1: in the dim corner. Candles should be there. Candles and
• 52:22
  Speaker 1: dusty censors should be lit. Should throw a faded light
• 52:26
  Speaker 1: upon your bloom of damask and your weariness of face. Oh,
• 52:32
  Speaker 1: you have lived too long. There is no place for
• 52:36
  Speaker 1: such as you within this crowded room, where people come
• 52:40
  Speaker 1: to bicker and drink tea and sometimes dare between a
• 52:44
  Speaker 1: bandied word to tell of you, as though you'd come
• 52:48
  Speaker 1: to be another fable, lovely and absurd, without much meaning
• 52:54
  Speaker 1: or reality, as though you were not here and had
• 52:59
  Speaker 1: not her End of poem. This recording is in the
• 53:05
  Speaker 1: public domain. Story Teller by Marian Strobel at Philiprivoks dot Org,
• 53:16
  Speaker 1: Banugate novelist. He was from Russia. He had been wounded.
• 53:24
  Speaker 1: He had known a Romanov. Oh, we took to height
• 53:28
  Speaker 1: in him. He could tell royal stories very well. He
• 53:33
  Speaker 1: could tell he had known a Romanov. What though his
• 53:38
  Speaker 1: voice was low as a wind blowing cold on a
• 53:41
  Speaker 1: frozen step, he had stories. They were gay. What he
• 53:47
  Speaker 1: said was gay, as royal Russia and as living and
• 53:52
  Speaker 1: as dead. End of poem. This recording is in the
• 53:58
  Speaker 1: public domain. Penitent Wife by MARIANN. Strobel read Filebrivox dot org.
• 54:10
  Speaker 1: When you gate novelist, why do you return penitent? The
• 54:17
  Speaker 1: room has not changed since the day you laughed and
• 54:21
  Speaker 1: went away. He has not changed. Why do you come,
• 54:27
  Speaker 1: come with your kindness with crying, now that he is dying,
• 54:33
  Speaker 1: Now that he at last lies broken? Who once had
• 54:37
  Speaker 1: this slim, haunched and fleet motion of feline feet sped
• 54:43
  Speaker 1: like a dun shadow beneath the honey colored sun, was free?
• 54:48
  Speaker 1: Oh savage travesty, This your return, This being kind to
• 54:55
  Speaker 1: eyes wide with this suffering of a trapped, hunted thing,
• 55:00
  Speaker 1: This being kind, when you were never kind before, making
• 55:05
  Speaker 1: death a whim the last you have for him? End
• 55:12
  Speaker 1: of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The
• 55:22
  Speaker 1: Tragic Few by Marian Strobel read Philbrivox dot org. When
• 55:26
  Speaker 1: youugate novelist, we hold bright pennies in our hand. We
• 55:33
  Speaker 1: pay to hear the penny band. We laugh and joke
• 55:36
  Speaker 1: and listen well, and all we hear we tell. Only
• 55:41
  Speaker 1: we do not dare to beat a symbol or a
• 55:44
  Speaker 1: little drum. Only we dare not come too near to
• 55:49
  Speaker 1: all the shouting crowd, or sing too loud. We are
• 55:54
  Speaker 1: the tragic few who smile and greet each other when
• 55:58
  Speaker 1: we meet, cry and kiss each other when we die. Oh,
• 56:04
  Speaker 1: but we hold avidly to the accustomed mold. We who
• 56:09
  Speaker 1: are of the earth, who dare not fling our yellow
• 56:12
  Speaker 1: pennies high. We who buy mirth and pay to hear
• 56:17
  Speaker 1: the penny band we cannot understand. End of poem. This
• 56:25
  Speaker 1: recording is in the public domain. Tropical Pool by Marian
• 56:35
  Speaker 1: Strobel read philibrivox dot org. When you gate, novelist, this
• 56:42
  Speaker 1: pool glistens too deep with shadows, shadows of leaves, green
• 56:48
  Speaker 1: slides into denser green, and beauty hides behind beauty that
• 56:54
  Speaker 1: is seen. This pool glistens too deep with shadows. Only
• 56:59
  Speaker 1: the light petals of water lilies close. At twilight, shadows
• 57:05
  Speaker 1: open still more wide, purple shadows slide in circles, sleek
• 57:12
  Speaker 1: and wide, and where the red point setteers make the
• 57:17
  Speaker 1: pool fade to a glistening pink and cool. The night
• 57:23
  Speaker 1: comes in. The night comes slowly in, with darkness, slowly
• 57:31
  Speaker 1: across the water, stars begin to spin a web, glistening
• 57:39
  Speaker 1: and thin. End of poem. This recording is in the
• 57:45
  Speaker 1: public domain. Prescients by Marion Stroubble read velibrivos dot org.
• 57:56
  Speaker 1: Banwgate novelist. Let this place be sweet with flowers. Let
• 58:03
  Speaker 1: there be a yellow sun, birds with beaks like corals,
• 58:08
  Speaker 1: tilted over songs not quite begun. Soon, Oh, soon you
• 58:14
  Speaker 1: will be coming. It will not be very long before
• 58:18
  Speaker 1: the coral tilted beaks can burst into a choral song.
• 58:24
  Speaker 1: It will not be very long. Now, Let this be
• 58:27
  Speaker 1: a breathless place. Let it be a hanging garden, poised
• 58:32
  Speaker 1: and waiting for your face. End of poem. This recording
• 58:39
  Speaker 1: is in the public domain. What have I done? By MARIANN.
• 58:50
  Speaker 1: Strobel read philibrivox dot org. When you gate, novelist, I
• 58:56
  Speaker 1: who have borne you? What have I done? Oh? You
• 59:01
  Speaker 1: are delight to me? Delight if you could rest rest
• 59:06
  Speaker 1: for ever the feather of your breath against my breast.
• 59:11
  Speaker 1: If I could reach the twisted branch of ecstasy that
• 59:15
  Speaker 1: feeds upon itself. If I could find some purple, clustered
• 59:20
  Speaker 1: fruit for you, some shade where minnow thin and silver
• 59:25
  Speaker 1: light slips in. If I could find one flower to
• 59:31
  Speaker 1: pettle your eyes from the too blazing sun. Oh, I
• 59:36
  Speaker 1: who have borne you? What have I done? End of
• 59:43
  Speaker 1: powerm This recording is in the public domain. Eight months
• 59:53
  Speaker 1: old by Marian Stroubble read philibrivox dot org. When You
• 59:58
  Speaker 1: Gate novelist, eight months ago. When you were born, you
• 1:00:05
  Speaker 1: were a tiny thing and light. I was afraid to
• 1:00:09
  Speaker 1: touch you much, or hold you very tight. And then
• 1:00:14
  Speaker 1: quite suddenly you grew fast as a little willow sprig,
• 1:00:18
  Speaker 1: and I was reassured within my arms. You felt so big.
• 1:00:25
  Speaker 1: But oh to day you laughed at me and stood
• 1:00:28
  Speaker 1: alone and did not fall. And oh, I am afraid
• 1:00:33
  Speaker 1: again you are so small, so small. End of poem.
• 1:00:41
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Address for My
• 1:00:51
  Speaker 1: Daughter by Marian Strobel read for the brivostotleg When You
• 1:00:55
  Speaker 1: Gate novelist. If I make you dress foam white, oh
• 1:01:02
  Speaker 1: my sweet, and stitch it fine as a lotus of samite,
• 1:01:06
  Speaker 1: surely then you'll be more mine. Surely no one then
• 1:01:10
  Speaker 1: will guess, Oh, my sweet, if you are far hidden
• 1:01:14
  Speaker 1: within loveliness, how much lovelier you are? End of poem.
• 1:01:22
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. A Song to
• 1:01:31
  Speaker 1: Sally by Marion Strobble read furlibrivox dot org by Newgate novelist.
• 1:01:40
  Speaker 1: In the days my hands had little enough of love
• 1:01:45
  Speaker 1: to make them glad, they were never empty in the
• 1:01:50
  Speaker 1: nights when only darkness filled them. They were never lonely.
• 1:01:56
  Speaker 1: Never until I learned the sunny, sweet content of holding you,
• 1:02:02
  Speaker 1: did I grow indolent. And now I sit for hours
• 1:02:07
  Speaker 1: with hands clasped futilely in a hungry circle around my knee. Oh,
• 1:02:15
  Speaker 1: now I sit for hours, not knowing what to make
• 1:02:19
  Speaker 1: hands do, until at last you are awake and they
• 1:02:24
  Speaker 1: may play with you. End of poem. This recording is
• 1:02:30
  Speaker 1: in the public domain. On Christmas by Marian Strobel read
• 1:02:41
  Speaker 1: Philipbrivocs dot org. When you gate, novelist, Often on Christmas,
• 1:02:49
  Speaker 1: I listen to a chant float from a colored window,
• 1:02:53
  Speaker 1: softly sibilant. Often on Christmas, I wait until aglow from
• 1:03:00
  Speaker 1: a colored pane of glass slides across the snow. Yet
• 1:03:06
  Speaker 1: though I hear songs and listen from without, I never
• 1:03:10
  Speaker 1: quite know what Christmas is about. I never quite know
• 1:03:16
  Speaker 1: till singing on my breast and warm as a colored light,
• 1:03:22
  Speaker 1: your head is at rest. End of poem. This recording
• 1:03:29
  Speaker 1: is in the public domain. My Offerings my Marrion Strobble
• 1:03:40
  Speaker 1: read Philbrivox dot org by a new great novelist. Now
• 1:03:45
  Speaker 1: that I am bringing you dolls of wool and dolls
• 1:03:49
  Speaker 1: of tin, dolls that squeak when you press in rattles
• 1:03:53
  Speaker 1: that you shake or chew. Now that toys are on
• 1:03:57
  Speaker 1: your bed, all the new ones and the old, and
• 1:04:02
  Speaker 1: the ones you like to scold, and those two be comforted.
• 1:04:08
  Speaker 1: Now that you are holding things that I bring and
• 1:04:12
  Speaker 1: carefully breaking them, it seems to me you approve my offerings.
• 1:04:20
  Speaker 1: End of power. This recording is in the public domain.
• 1:04:30
  Speaker 1: A God for You by Marion Strubble at velebrivox dot org.
• 1:04:34
  Speaker 1: When yougate novelist, I am making songs for you. Soon
• 1:04:42
  Speaker 1: you will be asking me with your solemn baby stare.
• 1:04:47
  Speaker 1: Soon I'll have to answer you when you ask me
• 1:04:50
  Speaker 1: what is God. God is where you want to go
• 1:04:55
  Speaker 1: when we reach the river's head, where the branches are
• 1:04:59
  Speaker 1: too low, and we go home instead. God is everything
• 1:05:04
  Speaker 1: that you have not done and wont to do. God
• 1:05:09
  Speaker 1: is all those shiny, bright stories that I say I'll
• 1:05:13
  Speaker 1: keep to tell to you another night, if you will
• 1:05:16
  Speaker 1: go to sleep. God is every lovely word you want
• 1:05:21
  Speaker 1: to hear and haven't heard. And if you should need
• 1:05:25
  Speaker 1: a place, after searching everywhere to hide a secret or
• 1:05:31
  Speaker 1: your face, you could hide it there. God is much
• 1:05:36
  Speaker 1: the safest place to hide a secret or your face.
• 1:05:44
  Speaker 1: End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.
• 1:05:54
  Speaker 1: Song of Summer by MARIANN. Strobule read for Lebrivoxtot g
• 1:05:58
  Speaker 1: when you Gate novelist, as once he sang, so, let
• 1:06:04
  Speaker 1: me sing of the austere, ephemeral thing, sunlight making more
• 1:06:10
  Speaker 1: o bleak, the red precision of a beak, tulip petals,
• 1:06:16
  Speaker 1: and the slim bending of a bending limb, as love
• 1:06:21
  Speaker 1: is hushed on its own note, reverberating in the throat,
• 1:06:26
  Speaker 1: as lips a kisses laid across have already tasted loss.
• 1:06:31
  Speaker 1: So in garden's gold is spun from fading leaf to
• 1:06:35
  Speaker 1: setting sun. And I as he would when I see
• 1:06:40
  Speaker 1: a bird, a flower, and a tree, as he would,
• 1:06:46
  Speaker 1: for a moment only will sing of summer being lonely.
• 1:06:53
  Speaker 1: End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.
• 1:07:03
  Speaker 1: In This Room by Marion Strobble read filbrivoxstottleg By Newgate novelist. One.
• 1:07:12
  Speaker 1: Once there was youth, youth with its brightle laughter, its
• 1:07:17
  Speaker 1: thin tears, youth, the radiant buffoon. Oh, how I laughed
• 1:07:23
  Speaker 1: at life that would come after the sun bewildered summer,
• 1:07:27
  Speaker 1: And how soon summer was a tittering of leaves, and
• 1:07:31
  Speaker 1: I was looking through the branches of a tree into
• 1:07:34
  Speaker 1: the hollow of a winter sky. Oh, youth was seeming
• 1:07:38
  Speaker 1: what I could not be. Now there is nothing left
• 1:07:42
  Speaker 1: but the recalling of autumn trees, dusty and aquiline. And
• 1:07:48
  Speaker 1: how a woman sobbed amid the falling of leaves, And
• 1:07:52
  Speaker 1: how the woman's face was mine, And youth was over,
• 1:07:57
  Speaker 1: even its despair was frozen quick in the winter air. Two,
• 1:08:06
  Speaker 1: when summer came again, my foolish tongue was quite as
• 1:08:09
  Speaker 1: glib as any mocking bird. And I looked younger than
• 1:08:13
  Speaker 1: when I was young. I mimicked all the youth I
• 1:08:16
  Speaker 1: ever heard. And lovers sprang to life, all spick and span,
• 1:08:21
  Speaker 1: cavorting with the locusts in the sun, each telling of
• 1:08:25
  Speaker 1: that wonder known as man, while each was intimating he
• 1:08:29
  Speaker 1: was one. Oh, lovers sprang to life. The fields were
• 1:08:33
  Speaker 1: full of buzzing insects, and of droning men, of some
• 1:08:38
  Speaker 1: one saying love was beautiful, and my replying beautiful. Again.
• 1:08:44
  Speaker 1: Never was I invincible as there when danger looped upon
• 1:08:49
  Speaker 1: the simmering air. Three now crisply roofs of houses cut
• 1:08:57
  Speaker 1: the sky, and a crisp moon points to a fading star,
• 1:09:01
  Speaker 1: while from my window, futilely I try to pierce the
• 1:09:05
  Speaker 1: meaning of the things that are looking, without yet listening
• 1:09:11
  Speaker 1: for the breath that stirs the room within. I only
• 1:09:14
  Speaker 1: now I heard somewhere a fantasy called death, But not
• 1:09:19
  Speaker 1: till now did I believe it. So Never while youth
• 1:09:23
  Speaker 1: cried out uncomforted, and never through the emptier days it came.
• 1:09:28
  Speaker 1: Was death more than a word that people said, because
• 1:09:32
  Speaker 1: the end of life must have a name. Never was
• 1:09:35
  Speaker 1: I as vulnerable as here within this room, where you
• 1:09:40
  Speaker 1: are safe and near end of poem. This recording is
• 1:09:46
  Speaker 1: in the public domain. Gift from the Empty Handed by
• 1:09:55
  Speaker 1: Marian Strober read filibrivox dot org. When you gate novelists,
• 1:10:02
  Speaker 1: If splicing the wind, I run into the setting sun
• 1:10:08
  Speaker 1: swifter than wind. If I pass over the grass, If
• 1:10:12
  Speaker 1: as a feather, I bend into the wind, float and
• 1:10:16
  Speaker 1: float down, slide and slide in where the wind ribbons thin,
• 1:10:22
  Speaker 1: Where the wind is a twirl and a roar, and
• 1:10:25
  Speaker 1: a shell with no shore, and is blue and is green,
• 1:10:29
  Speaker 1: and is more this movement, this light, this ascent. When
• 1:10:35
  Speaker 1: I'm lifted and bent when whipped by the wind, I
• 1:10:40
  Speaker 1: would strip to be won with the whip. This nothing,
• 1:10:44
  Speaker 1: this on the wing, thing that I love, I will
• 1:10:48
  Speaker 1: bring to you. I love who will know. Whenever the
• 1:10:52
  Speaker 1: wind may blow, something is yours, wind driven though nothing
• 1:10:58
  Speaker 1: is given. End of poem. This recording is in the
• 1:11:03
  Speaker 1: public domain. Too well, I know by Marian Strobel read
• 1:11:14
  Speaker 1: philibrovox dot org. By you Gate novelist, if you should
• 1:11:20
  Speaker 1: come again, I'd know your coming as surely as I
• 1:11:23
  Speaker 1: know when in the air a song has burst invisibly
• 1:11:27
  Speaker 1: from humming, and steps approach by an invisible stare. But
• 1:11:33
  Speaker 1: what I know too well, I'm never learning. Each day
• 1:11:37
  Speaker 1: I dream through every window pane. Each figure that I
• 1:11:41
  Speaker 1: see is yours returning too well, I know you will
• 1:11:45
  Speaker 1: not come again. End of poem. This recording is in
• 1:11:52
  Speaker 1: the public domain. San picture by Marian Strobel read philibrivox
• 1:12:03
  Speaker 1: dot org. When you Gate, novelist, I will draw on
• 1:12:09
  Speaker 1: the sand. The slender tip of my parasol shall draw
• 1:12:14
  Speaker 1: on the sand, the curve of your cheek, and your
• 1:12:17
  Speaker 1: lower lip, the spidery web of your hand. I will
• 1:12:22
  Speaker 1: draw on the sand. Each line shall tell to the
• 1:12:26
  Speaker 1: passer by each curve shall make him see how ugly
• 1:12:30
  Speaker 1: you are. If I draw it well, it may be
• 1:12:34
  Speaker 1: plainer to me. End of poem. This recording is in
• 1:12:40
  Speaker 1: the public domain. Flirt by Marian Strobel read philibrivox dot org.
• 1:12:52
  Speaker 1: When you gate novelist, Will you believe me if I
• 1:12:58
  Speaker 1: say I want your prayer in a casual way. Of
• 1:13:02
  Speaker 1: those who loving battle turn at every taunt, that they
• 1:13:08
  Speaker 1: may feel the joy of dealing blows. It is not you,
• 1:13:12
  Speaker 1: It is not you, alas you are a man stoop
• 1:13:17
  Speaker 1: shouldered in a chair. I shall forget you. Everything will pass.
• 1:13:23
  Speaker 1: But the strange need to have another. There an adversary
• 1:13:28
  Speaker 1: for the vacant spot, a seasoned battler for the mimic war,
• 1:13:32
  Speaker 1: that I may tilt with words, and like as not
• 1:13:37
  Speaker 1: feel the elation of a conqueror. I should not want
• 1:13:41
  Speaker 1: you if you would not leave me. Oh, turn your
• 1:13:44
  Speaker 1: face this way? Do you believe me? End of poem.
• 1:13:51
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Torch Bearers by
• 1:14:01
  Speaker 1: Marian Strobel read for thebrivox dot org. When you gate novelist.
• 1:14:08
  Speaker 1: The women on the streets with pretty faces and empty hearts,
• 1:14:13
  Speaker 1: pretty homes and no love in them, torch bearers wanting
• 1:14:17
  Speaker 1: a flame. Is there no mecca for the pretty faces?
• 1:14:22
  Speaker 1: No fetish for the tapering hands? Is there no prophet
• 1:14:26
  Speaker 1: big enough the pretty faces? How they would shine on
• 1:14:31
  Speaker 1: a dark night? In single file, hands holding candles, White
• 1:14:37
  Speaker 1: profiles moving slowly across the blackness. Pretty women, torch bearers
• 1:14:44
  Speaker 1: with eyes lifted. End of poem. This recording is in
• 1:14:51
  Speaker 1: the public domain. For a Lady Pursuit by Marian Strobel
• 1:15:01
  Speaker 1: read Philbrivox dot org. When you gate novelist, let her
• 1:15:07
  Speaker 1: hold herself austerely. He's come near. He's come nearly closer
• 1:15:13
  Speaker 1: than a cat whose paw lifts a hidden claw. If
• 1:15:18
  Speaker 1: she moves in circles wider, he will try to move
• 1:15:22
  Speaker 1: beside her. Rather let her sit and stare at his
• 1:15:27
  Speaker 1: thinning hair. End of poem. This recording is in the
• 1:15:33
  Speaker 1: public domain. Still Life by Marian Strobel read Philbrivox dot org.
• 1:15:45
  Speaker 1: When you gate novelist, it is not healthy. It is
• 1:15:50
  Speaker 1: not good to sit so long upon a chair and
• 1:15:54
  Speaker 1: watch the place where once he stood, and see him
• 1:15:57
  Speaker 1: standing there. The pet are wide, the flowers are dying.
• 1:16:03
  Speaker 1: It is over. Love must pass. What is the use
• 1:16:08
  Speaker 1: of your denying. Flowers are hideous under glass end of powem.
• 1:16:16
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Captive by Marian
• 1:16:27
  Speaker 1: Stroubble read filbrivoxtotag. When you gat novelist? Isn't she soft
• 1:16:34
  Speaker 1: and still? Isn't she warmly, bent enough to suit your
• 1:16:38
  Speaker 1: will and merriment? Isn't she gold and white? Isn't her
• 1:16:44
  Speaker 1: body drawn quiveringly, still, with the fright of a fawn?
• 1:16:50
  Speaker 1: And if under your touch she trembles, cold and taught,
• 1:16:55
  Speaker 1: it should not matter much. She is caught? End of poem.
• 1:17:02
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Last migration by
• 1:17:12
  Speaker 1: Marian Strubble at Philbrivox dot org. When you gate Novelist,
• 1:17:19
  Speaker 1: she was holding the thin piece of muslin carefully as
• 1:17:23
  Speaker 1: she pushed the needle in. The dress would be ready
• 1:17:27
  Speaker 1: on the morrow. If she worked fast and her hands
• 1:17:31
  Speaker 1: were steady, the dress would be a wing to spread
• 1:17:35
  Speaker 1: across her narrow chest and her hearts beating. Surely no
• 1:17:41
  Speaker 1: one would guess she would be hidden. He would see
• 1:17:45
  Speaker 1: only a drifting dress. Only a dress would hover near
• 1:17:50
  Speaker 1: the place. She could pretend he was still her lover.
• 1:17:56
  Speaker 1: If tapering candles were lighted, if singing claimed the newly united.
• 1:18:02
  Speaker 1: If his lifted face was turned to another, she would
• 1:18:06
  Speaker 1: feel herself in the cherished place. She would relive the past.
• 1:18:13
  Speaker 1: Her joy slid out like thread. Her hands were steady,
• 1:18:19
  Speaker 1: she worked fast. End of powerm This recording is in
• 1:18:24
  Speaker 1: the public domain. Protest by Marian Strobel read philibrivox dot org.
• 1:18:36
  Speaker 1: By Newgate novelist, Houses, cutting the sky, words, cutting the paper,
• 1:18:45
  Speaker 1: the hopeful books, stenciling the two crisp silhouettes. Come. We
• 1:18:50
  Speaker 1: will show you what you do not see. The gables
• 1:18:54
  Speaker 1: on the houses, the sun on the windows, the chimneys
• 1:18:59
  Speaker 1: down to the jury, raniums in the windows, the men
• 1:19:02
  Speaker 1: in the houses, loving the women because they have yellow
• 1:19:06
  Speaker 1: hair or blue eyes, or red hair, because because making
• 1:19:14
  Speaker 1: love deafinite, giving love an edge. Nowhere does a life
• 1:19:20
  Speaker 1: create a crystal nothing that the mind may slip down
• 1:19:25
  Speaker 1: blue voids and find its own dream. End of poem.
• 1:19:32
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Bridges by Marion
• 1:19:42
  Speaker 1: Strobel read philibrivox dot org. When you Gate novelist, founding
• 1:19:50
  Speaker 1: a constant grandeur on inconstant sand, bridges, hurdle rivers and
• 1:19:56
  Speaker 1: land surly their perfect sinews under long duress hold a
• 1:20:03
  Speaker 1: crouching posture, motionless. Beams are ch high, and girders the zeba,
• 1:20:11
  Speaker 1: the truss that we may cross, laughing, oblivious that there
• 1:20:16
  Speaker 1: is a river blackened by the night, where a mighty
• 1:20:20
  Speaker 1: shadow glistens white. End of poem. This recording is in
• 1:20:27
  Speaker 1: the public domain and end of selected poems by Marion Strouble.
• 1:20:37
  Speaker 1: Thank you for listening.