WEBVTT

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Well, what I'd like to do is
to read the poems from now

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on fairly consecutively and
I don't mean all of them.

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But I mean I'd like to
read one poem from--

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at least from each of
the books and then end

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with some unpublished ones.

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And the one from The Moving
Target is a poem called Air.

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And this was written about,
oh, I suppose three years

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after The Drunk in the
furnace, and the poems

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are rather different.

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I mean, the air of the
title is air in every sense

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you'd think of it.

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It's in the musical sense,
and in the pulmonary sense,

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and in the weatherman sense.

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"Naturally it is night.

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Under the overturned
lute with its one string

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I am going my way, which
has a strange sound.

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This way the dust.

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That way the dust.

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I listen to both sides
but I keep right on.

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I remember the leaves sitting
in judgment, and then winter.

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I remember the rain with
its bundle of roads.

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The rain taking all its roads.

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Nowhere.

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Young as I am, old as I am, I
forget tomorrow, the blind man.

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I forget the life among
the buried windows.

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The eyes and the curtains.

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The wall growing
through the immortelles.

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I forget silence, the
owner of the smile.

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This must be what I
wanted to be doing.

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Walking at night between
the two deserts, singing."

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[CLAPPING]

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