Out on the high "bird islands," Ciboux and Hertford,  
the razorbill auks and the silly-looking puffins all stand  
with their backs to the mainland  
in solemn, uneven lines along the cliff's brown grass-frayed edge,  
while the few sheep pastured there go "Baaa, baaa."  
(Sometimes, frightened by aeroplanes, they stampede  
and fall over into the sea or onto the rocks.)  
The silken water is weaving and weaving,  
disappearing under the mist equally in all directions,  
lifted and penetrated now and then  
by one shag's dripping serpent-neck,  
and somewhere the mist incorporates the pulse,  
rapid but unurgent, of a motor boat.  

The same mist hangs in thin layers  
among the valleys and gorges of the mainland  
like rotting snow-ice sucked away  
almost to spirit; the ghosts of glaciers drift  
among those folds and folds of fir: spruce and hackmatack--  
dull, dead, deep pea-cock colors,  
each riser distinguished from the next  
by an irregular nervous saw-tooth edge,  
alike, but certain as a stereoscopic view.  

The wild road clambers along the brink of the coast.  
On it stand occasional small yellow bulldozers,  
but without their drivers, because today is Sunday.  
The little white churches have been dropped into the matted hills  
like lost quartz arrowheads.  
The road appears to have been abandoned.  
Whatever the landscape had of meaning appears to have been abandoned,  
unless the road is holding it back, in the interior,  
where we cannot see,  
where deep lakes are reputed to be,  
and disused trails and mountains of rock  
and miles of burnt forests, standing in gray scratches  
like the admirable scriptures made on stones by stones--  
and these regions now have little to say for themselves  
except in thousands of light song-sparrow songs floating upward  
freely, dispassionately, through the mist, and meshing  
in brown-wet, fine torn fish-nets.  

A small bus comes along, in up-and-down rushes,  
packed with people, even to its step.  
(On weekdays with groceries, spare automobile parts, and pump parts,  
but today only two preachers extra, one carrying his frock coat on a 
        hanger.)  
It passes the closed roadside stand, the closed schoolhouse,  
where today no flag is flying  
from the rough-adzed pole topped with a white china doorknob.  
It stops, and a man carrying a bay gets off,  
climbs over a stile, and goes down through a small steep meadow,  
which establishes its poverty in a snowfall of daisies,  
to his invisible house beside the water.  

The birds keep on singing, a calf bawls, the bus starts.  
The thin mist follows  
the white mutations of its dream;  
an ancient chill is rippling the dark brooks. 

 
Hors sur des hautes "îles d'oiseau," de Ciboux et de Hertford, des 
auks de razorbill et des puffins idiot-regardants tout le stand avec 
leurs dos au continent dans les lignes solennelles et inégales le 
long du bord herbe-frangé brun de la falaise, alors que les quelques 
moutons pâturés là vont "Baaa, baaa." (parfois, effrayé en des 
avions, ils se précipitent et tombent plus de dans la mer ou sur les 
roches.) L'eau de soie est tissante et tissante, disparaissant sous la 
brume également dans toutes les directions, soulevée et pénétrée 
maintenant et alors par un serpent-cou de l'égoutture de la tapis à 
longs poils, et quelque part la brume incorpore l'impulsion, rapide 
mais unurgent, d'un bateau de moteur.  

La même brume accroche dans les couches minces parmi les vallées et 
les gorges du continent comme la neige-glace de décomposition sucée 
loin presque à l'esprit; les fantômes des glaciers dérivent parmi 
ces plis et plis de sapin: sapins et hackmatack -- mat, couleurs 
mortes et profondes de paon, chaque canalisation verticale a 
distingué du prochain par un bord en dents de scie nerveux 
irrégulier, semblable, mais certain comme vue stéréoscopique.  

La route sauvage grimpe le long du bord de la côte. Là-dessus 
bouteurs jaunes occasionnels de stand petits, mais sans leurs 
conducteurs, parce qu'aujourd'hui est dimanche. Les petites églises 
blanches ont été lâchées dans les collines emmêlées comme les 
pointes de flèche perdues de quartz. La route semble avoir été 
abandonnée. Celui que le paysage ait eu de la signification semble 
avoir été abandonné, à moins que la route la tienne en arrière, 
dans l'intérieur, où nous ne pouvons pas voir, où les lacs profonds 
sont réputés être, et les traînées hors d'usage et des montagnes 
de roche et des milles de forêts brûlées, se tenant dans les 
éraflures grises comme les scriptures excellents faits sur des 
pierres par des pierres -- et ces régions ont maintenant peu à dire 
pour elles-mêmes excepté dans des milliers de chansons légères de 
chanson-moineau flottant vers le haut librement, impartialement, par 
la brume, et engrenant dans les poisson-filets déchirés brun-humides 
et fins.  

Un petit autobus vient le long, dans des précipitations de haut en 
bas, emballées avec des personnes, même à son étape. (des jours de 
la semaine avec l'épicerie, les pièces de rechange d'automobile, et 
les pièces de pompe, mais aujourd'hui seulement deux prédicateurs 
supplémentaires, on portant son manteau de robe sur un cintre.) Il 
passe le kiosque en bord de route fermé, l'école fermée, où 
aujourd'hui aucun drapeau ne vole du poteau rugueux-adzed complété 
avec une poignée de porte blanche de porcelaine. Il s'arrête, et un 
homme portant un compartiment descend, s'élève au-dessus d'un 
montant, et passe vers le bas par un petit pré raide, qui établit sa 
pauvreté dans des chutes de neige des marguerites, à son maison 
invisible près de l'eau.  

Les oiseaux continuent au chant, un veau braille, les débuts 
d'autobus. La brume mince suit les mutations blanches de son rêve; 
un froid antique ondule les ruisseaux foncés. 

 
Aus auf den hohen "Vogelinseln," Ciboux und Hertford, den razorbill 
auks und den dumm-schauenden puffins aller Standplatz mit ihren 
Rückseiten zum Festland in den ernsten, ungleichen Linien entlang dem 
braunen Gras-ausgefransten Rand der Klippe, während die wenigen 
Schafe, die dort geweidet werden, "Baaa gehen, baaa." (manchmal, 
erschrocken durch Flugzeuge, stürmen sie und fallen rüber in das 
Meer oder auf die Felsen.) Das seidene Wasser ist spinnend und 
spinnend und gleichmäßig verschwindet unter dem Nebel in allen 
Richtungen, dann angehoben und durch einen Schlange-Ansatz Bratenfett 
der Noppe jetzt und eingedrungen, und irgendwo enthält der Nebel den 
schnellen aber unurgent Impuls, von einem Bewegungsboot.  

Der gleiche Nebel hängt in den Dünnschichten unter den Senken und 
den Schluchten des Festlands wie das Verrotten Schnee-Eis, das weg 
fast zum Geist gesogen wird; die Geister der Gletscher treiben unter 
jenen Falten und Falten der Tanne: Fichten und hackmatack --, das, 
tote, tiefe Pfaufarben stumpf ist, unterschied jeder Aufbruch vom 
folgenden durch einen unregelmäßigen nervösen Sägezahnrand, der 
gleich, aber als stereoskopische Ansicht sicher ist.  

Die wilde Straße klettert entlang den Rand der Küste. Auf ihr 
gelegentliche kleine gelbe Planierraupen des Standplatzes, aber ohne 
ihre Treiber, weil heutiger Tag Sonntag ist. Die kleinen weißen 
Kirchen sind in die verstrickten Hügel wie verlorene 
Quarzpfeilspitzen fallengelassen worden. Die Straße scheint verlassen 
worden zu sein. Was auch immer die Landschaft von der Bedeutung hatte, 
scheint verlassen worden zu sein, es sei denn die Straße sie zurück, 
im Inneren hält, in dem wir nicht sehen können, wo tiefe Seen 
angeblich sind zu sein und veraltete Spuren und Berge des Felsens und 
die Meilen gebrannte Wälder, in den grauen Kratzern wie den 
bewundernswerten scriptures gebildet auf Steinen durch Steine stehend 
-- und diese Regionen haben jetzt wenig, zum für selbst ausgenommen 
in Tausenden der hellen Lied-Spatz Liede zu sagen aufwärts frei, die 
sachlich durch den Nebel schwimmen und in den braun-nassen, feinen 
heftig gezerrissenen Fisch-Netzen ineinandergreifen.  

Ein kleiner Bus kommt entlang, in die up-and-down Anstürme, verpackt 
mit den Leuten, die zu seinem Schritt gleichmäßig sind. (auf 
Wochentagen mit Lebensmittelgeschäft, Ersatzautomobilteilen und Pumpe 
Teilen, aber heute nur zwei Predigern Extra, einem, der seinen 
Kittelmantel auf einem Aufhänger. trägt) Er führt den geschlossenen 
Verkaufsstand am Straßenrand, das geschlossene Schulhaus, wohin 
heute keine Markierungsfahne vom rauhen-adzed Pfosten fliegt, der mit 
einem weißen Porzellantürknauf überstiegen wird. Er stoppt und ein 
Mann, der eine Bucht trägt, erhält weg, klettert über einem 
Zauntritt und läuft unten eine kleine steile Wiese, die seine Armut 
in Schneefälle der Gänseblümchen herstellt, zu seinem unsichtbaren 
Haus neben dem Wasser durch.  

Die Vögel halten auf dem Singen, ein Kalb bawls, die Busanfänge. Der 
dünne Nebel folgt den weißen Veränderungen seines Traums; ein alter 
Schauer plätschert die dunklen Bäche. 

 
Para fora do "nos consoles elevados pássaro," de Ciboux e de 
Hertford, dos auks do razorbill e dos puffins silly-olhando todo o 
carrinho com suas partes traseiras ao mainland em linhas solemn, 
desiguais ao longo da borda grama-desgastada marrom do penhasco, 
quando poucos carneiros pastados lá forem "Baaa, baaa." (às vezes, 
frightened por aviões, stampede e caem sobre no mar ou nas rochas.) A 
água silken é tecendo e tecendo, desaparecendo sob a névoa 
ingualmente em todos os sentidos, levantada e penetrada agora e então 
por uma serpente-garganta do gotejamento do shag, e em algum lugar a 
névoa incorpora o pulso, rápido mas unurgent, de um barco de motor.  

A mesma névoa pendura em camadas finas entre os vales e os gorges do 
mainland como o neve-gelo rotting sugado afastado quase ao espírito; 
os ghosts das geleiras drift entre aquelas dobras e dobras do abeto: 
abetos vermelhos e hackmatack -- maçante, cores inoperantes, 
profundas do pea-cock, cada riser distinguiu do seguinte por uma borda 
saw-tooth nervosa irregular, semelhante, mas certa como uma vista 
stereoscopic.  

A estrada selvagem clambers ao longo do brink da costa. Nela 
escavadoras amarelas pequenas ocasionais do carrinho, mas sem seus 
excitadores, porque hoje é domingo. As igrejas brancas pequenas foram 
deixadas cair nos montes matted como arrowheads perdidos de quartzo. A 
estrada parece ter sido abandonada. O que quer que a paisagem teve do 
meaning parece ter sido abandonado, a menos que a estrada o estiver 
prendendo para trás, no interior, onde nós não podemos ver, onde os 
lagos profundos são reputed estar, e fugas disused e montanhas da 
rocha e as milhas de florestas queimadas, estando em riscos cinzentos 
como os scriptures admirable feitos em pedras por pedras -- e estas 
regiões têm agora pouco a dizer para se exceto em milhares das 
canções claras do canção-pardal que flutuam para cima livremente, 
dispassionately, através da névoa, e engrenando em peixe-redes 
rasgadas marrom-molhadas, finas.  

Uma barra-ônibus pequena vem longitudinalmente, nas arremetidas 
up-and-down, embaladas com os povos, uniformes a sua etapa. (em 
weekdays com mantimento, as peças de reposição do automóvel, e as 
peças da bomba, mas hoje os somente dois preachers extra, o um que 
carrega seu revestimento do frock em um gancho.) Passa o carrinho de 
roadside closed, o schoolhouse closed, aonde hoje nenhuma bandeira 
está voando do pólo áspero-adzed coberto com um doorknob branco do 
china. Para, e um homem que carrega uma baía começa fora, escala 
sobre um stile, e atravessa para baixo um prado íngreme pequeno, que 
estabeleça sua pobreza no snowfall dos daisies, a sua casa invisível 
ao lado da água.  

Os pássaros mantêm-se em cantar, uma vitela bawls, os começos da 
barra-ônibus. A névoa fina segue os mutations brancos de seu sonho; 
um frio antigo rippling os ribeiros escuros. 

 
Fuera en de las "islas altas del pájaro," de Ciboux y de Hertford, de 
los auks del razorbill y de los puffins tonto-que miran todo el 
soporte con sus partes posterioras al continente en líneas solemnes, 
desiguales a lo largo del borde hierba-rai'do marrón del acantilado, 
mientras que van las pocas ovejas pastadas allí "Baaa, baaa." (a 
veces, asustado por los aviones, precipitan y se caen encima en el mar 
o sobre las rocas.) El agua de seda es que teje y que teje, 
desapareciendo debajo de la niebla igualmente en todas las 
direcciones, ahora y entonces levantada y penetrada por un 
serpiente-cuello del goteo de la pelusa, y en alguna parte la niebla 
incorpora el pulso, rápido pero unurgent, de un barco de motor.  

La misma niebla cuelga en capas delgadas entre los valles y los gorges 
del continente como el nieve-hielo de la descomposición casi aspirado 
lejos al alcohol; los fantasmas de glaciares mandilan entre esos 
dobleces y los dobleces del abeto: piceas y hackmatack -- embotado, 
colores muertos, profundos del pea-cock, cada canalización vertical 
distinguió del siguiente por un borde saw-tooth nervioso irregular, 
semejante, pero seguro como visión estereoscópica.  

El camino salvaje clambers a lo largo del borde de la costa. En 
él niveladoras amarillas pequeñas ocasionales del soporte, pero sin 
sus conductores, porque hoy es domingo. Las pequeñas iglesias blancas 
se han caído en las colinas matted como puntas de flecha perdidas del 
cuarzo. El camino aparece haber sido abandonado. Lo que el paisaje 
tenía del significado aparece haber sido abandonado, a menos que el 
camino lo esté llevando a cabo detrás, en el interior, donde no 
podemos ver, donde están reputados los lagos profundos estar, y los 
rastros averiados y las montañas de la roca y las millas de bosques 
quemados, estando paradas en rasguños grises como los scriptures 
admirables hechos en piedras por las piedras -- y estas regiones ahora 
tienen poco a decir para sí mismos excepto en millares de canciones 
ligeras del cancio'n-gorrio'n que flotan hacia arriba libremente, 
desapasionado, a través de la niebla, y endentando en pescado-redes 
rasgadas marro'n-mojadas, finas.  

Un autobús pequeño viene adelante, en las acometidas de arriba a 
abajo, embaladas con la gente, uniforme a su paso. (el días 
laborables con la tienda de comestibles, las piezas de repuesto del 
automóvil, y las piezas de la bomba, pero hoy solamente dos 
predicadores adicionales, uno que lleva su capa del vestido en una 
suspensión.) Pasa el soporte de borde de la carretera cerrado, la 
escuela cerrada, adonde ninguna bandera está volando hoy del poste 
a'spero-adzed rematado con un doorknob blanco de China. Para, y un 
hombre que lleva una bahía baja, sube sobre un montante, y pasa abajo 
a través de un prado escarpado pequeño, que establece su pobreza en 
las nevadas de margaritas, a su casa invisible al lado del agua.  

Los pájaros guardan en cantar, un becerro gritan, el comienzo del 
autobús. La niebla fina sigue las mutaciones blancas de su sueño; 
una frialdad antigua está ondulando los arroyos oscuros. 

(These are public search results on the terms: 'Elizabeth Bishop: Cape Breton poem')

• My Take on <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> and James Wright - Big Bang <b>Poetry</b> by Cher Scholar (2013/03/16 14:49)

  Years ago a friend of mine gave me the book Elizabeth Bishop, The Complete Poems 1927-1979. Last winter, in a ... Because who doesn't like Elizabeth Bishop? ... The last stanza of "Cape Breton" is all you need to know: ...
• <b>Cape Breton</b> Tea Biscuits | Paul Otremba by Paul Otremba (2013/03/11 08:26)

  Cape Breton Tea Biscuit. “'Yes…' that peculiar / affirmative. 'Yes…' / A sharp, indrawn breath, / half groan, half acceptance, / that means 'Life's like that.…'” So Elizabeth Bishop describes a habit of speech from Nova Scotia in her poem “The Moose,” and it's true ... We had come to Nova Scotia to visit Holly's relatives, but with the additional intentions of seeing the place Bishop had mapped so descriptively in her many Nova Scotian poems and to learn to like eating fish.
• The <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> Blog: FIRST ENCOUNTER XXXVIII: Betty <b>...</b> by Sandra Barry (2013/02/12 18:03)

  The Elizabeth Bishop Legacy Recording Project. Help us to record new settings of Elizabeth Bishop poems, created for her one hundredth birthday by a stellar band of Canadian composers!
• <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> (2): A Cold Spring (1955) | Outside of a Cat by annette.c.boehm (2013/01/25 23:13)

  ... dead, deep peacock-colors (“Cape Breton”); occasional small yellow bulldozers (ibid); brown-wet, fine, torn fish-nets (ibid); the rough-adzed pole (ibid); glass-smooth dung (“The Prodigal”); Light-lashed, self-righteous (ibid); Her sinister kind face / presents a cruel ... Reading Bishop's poem I saw in my mind two people leaning over a book of such pictures, albeit many, many more of them, and traveling in their minds, much like the first readers of the flea market book.
• More than a pretty postcard: Jem Cohen&#39;s <b>Cape Breton</b> obsession <b>...</b> by unknown (2012/12/06 13:23)

  A meditative, trance-like collage of ocean, treacherous highways and decaying buildings was interspersed with interviews with locals, historical facts and poetry from Cape Breton's Don Domanski and Elizabeth Bishop, ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: <b>Elizabeth Bishop Poems</b> by Philosopher (2012/09/11 11:56)

  Life is a Poem & You are Poet of your Life. This is d blog where u get Poems. You will find yourself in this blog. Destination of Destiny is waiting for you. You will find all thing about Philosophy ,motivation , spiritual ,inspiration, ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Trouvйe by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 05:43)

  Trouvйe by Elizabeth Bishop. Oh, why should a hen have been run over on West 4th Street in the middle of summer? She was a white hen --red-and-white now, of course. How did she get there? Where was she going?
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Giant Toad by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 05:42)

  Giant Toad by Elizabeth Bishop. I am too big. Too big by far. Pity me. My eyes bulge and hurt. They are my one great beauty, even so. They see too much, above, below. And yet, there is not much to see. The rain has stopped.
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Cirque D&#39;Hiver by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 05:39)

  Cirque D'Hiver by Elizabeth Bishop. Across the floor flits the mechanical toy, fit for a king of several centuries back. A little circus horse with real white hair. His eyes are glossy black. He bears a little dancer on his back.
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Arrival At Santos by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 05:37)

  Arrival At Santos by Elizabeth Bishop. Here is a coast; here is a harbor; here, after a meager diet of horizon, is some scenery: impractically shaped and--who knows?--self-pitying mountains, sad and harsh beneath their ...
• While Someone Telephones by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> - <b>Poem</b> Born From <b>...</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 05:30)

  While Someone Telephones by Elizabeth Bishop. Wasted, wasted minutes that couldn't be worse, minutes of a barbaric condescension. --Stare out the bathroom window at the fir-trees, at their dark needles, accretions to no ...
• Sleeping On The Ceiling by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> - <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart by Philosopher (2012/07/09 05:24)

  Sleeping On The Ceiling by Elizabeth Bishop ... This is d blog where you get all type of poems which describe the feelings of the people... you can feel ... if u have any poem , motivational , success , spiritual, love or life quotes.
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Large Bad Picture by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 05:22)

  Large Bad Picture by Elizabeth Bishop. Remembering the Strait of Belle Isle or some northerly harbor of Labrador, before he became a schoolteacher a great-uncle painted a big picture. Receding for miles on either side ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: The Imaginary Iceberg by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 05:21)

  The Imaginary Iceberg by Elizabeth Bishop. We'd rather have the iceberg than the ship, although it meant the end of travel. Although it stood stock-still like cloudy rock and all the sea were moving marble. We'd rather have the ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Sandpiper by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 05:08)

  Sandpiper by Elizabeth Bishop. The roaring alongside he takes for granted, and that every so often the world is bound to shake. He runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward, in a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake.
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Giant Snail by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 05:07)

  Giant Snail by Elizabeth Bishop. The rain has stopped. The waterfall will roar like that all night. I have come out to take a walk and feed. My body--foot, that is--is wet and cold and covered with sharp gravel. It is white, the size ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Sonnet (1928) by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 05:06)

  Sonnet (1928) by Elizabeth Bishop. I am in need of music that would flow. Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips, Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips, With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow. Oh, for the healing swaying, old and ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Rain Towards Morning by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 05:00)

  Rain Towards Morning by Elizabeth Bishop. The great light cage has broken up in the air, freeing, I think, about a million birds whose wild ascending shadows will not be back, and all the wires come falling down. No cage, no ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: <b>Poem</b> by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 05:00)

  Poem by Elizabeth Bishop. About the size of an old-style dollar bill, American or Canadian, mostly the same whites, gray greens, and steel grays --this little painting (a sketch for a larger one?) has never earned any money in ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: O Breath by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 04:59)

  O Breath by Elizabeth Bishop. Beneath that loved and celebrated breast, silent, bored really blindly veined, grieves, maybe lives and lets live, passes bets, something moving but invisibly, and with what clamor why restrained ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Exchanging Hats by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/09 04:58)

  Exchanging Hats by Elizabeth Bishop. Unfunny uncles who insist in trying on a lady's hat, --oh, even if the joke falls flat, we share your slight transvestite twist in spite of our embarrassment. Costume and custom are complex.
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Anaphora by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/06 23:00)

  Anaphora by Elizabeth Bishop. In memory of Marjorie Carr Stevens Each day with so much ceremony begins, with birds, with bells, with whistles from a factory; such white-gold skies our eyes first open on, such brilliant walls ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: The Armadillo by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/06 22:57)

  The Armadillo by Elizabeth Bishop. For Robert Lowell This is the time of year when almost every night the frail, illegal fire balloons appear. Climbing the mountain height, rising toward a saint still honored in these parts, ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Sonnet (1979) by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/06 22:50)

  Sonnet (1979) by Elizabeth Bishop. Caught -- the bubble in the spirit level, a creature divided; and the compass needle wobbling and wavering, undecided. Freed -- the broken thermometer's mercury running away; and the ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: The Shampoo by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/06 22:49)

  The Shampoo by Elizabeth Bishop. The still explosions on the rocks, the lichens, grow by spreading, gray, concentric shocks. They have arranged to meet the rings around the moon, although within our memories they have ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: The Moose by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/06 22:43)

  The Moose by Elizabeth Bishop. From narrow provinces of fish and bread and tea, home of the long tides where the bay leaves the sea twice a day and takes the herrings long rides, where if the river enters or retreats in a wall ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Insomnia by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/06 22:42)

  Insomnia by Elizabeth Bishop. The moon in the bureau mirror looks out a million miles (and perhaps with pride, at herself, but she never, never smiles) far and away beyond sleep, or perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: In The Waiting Room by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/06 22:40)

  In The Waiting Room by Elizabeth Bishop. In Worcester, Massachusetts, I went with Aunt Consuelo to keep her dentist's appointment and sat and waited for her in the dentist's waiting room. It was winter. It got dark early.
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Filling Station by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/06 22:39)

  Filling Station by Elizabeth Bishop. Oh, but it is dirty! --this little filling station, oil-soaked, oil-permeated to a disturbing, over-all black translucency. Be careful with that match! Father wears a dirty, oil-soaked monkey suit ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Love Lies Sleeping by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/06 11:24)

  Love Lies Sleeping by Elizabeth Bishop. Earliest morning, switching all the tracks that cross the sky from cinder star to star, coupling the ends of streets to trains of light. now draw us into daylight in our beds; and clear away ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Lullaby For The Cat by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by noreply@blogger.com (Philosopher) (2012/07/06 11:23)

  Lullaby For The Cat by Elizabeth Bishop. Minnow, go to sleep and dream, Close your great big eyes; Round your bed Events prepare. The pleasantest surprise. Darling Minnow, drop that frown, Just cooperate, Not a kitten ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: Sestina by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/06 11:23)

  Sestina by Elizabeth Bishop. September rain falls on the house. In the failing light, the old grandmother sits in the kitchen with the child beside the Little Marvel Stove, reading the jokes from the almanac, laughing and talking to ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: The Fish by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/06 11:21)

  The Fish by Elizabeth Bishop. I caught a tremendous fish and held him beside the boat half out of water, with my hook fast in a corner of his mouth. He didn't fight. He hadn't fought at all. He hung a grunting weight, battered ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: One Art by <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> by Philosopher (2012/07/06 11:19)

  One Art by Elizabeth Bishop. The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly ...
• <b>Poem</b> Born From Heart !!!!: <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> Biography by Philosopher (2012/07/06 11:18)

  Elizabeth Bishop won virtually every poetry prize in the country although she insisted, "They don't mean too much." Her first book, North & South, won the Houghton Mifflin Poetry Award for 1946. In 1955, she received the ...
• The <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> Blog: Nova Scotia Connections – A Day in the <b>...</b> by Sandra Barry (2012/06/28 03:57)

  The Elizabeth Bishop Legacy Recording Project. Help us to record new settings of Elizabeth Bishop poems, created for her one hundredth birthday by a stellar band of Canadian composers!
• The <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> Blog: Nova Scotia Connections: A Day in the <b>...</b> by Sandra Barry (2012/05/05 07:08)

  Help us to record new settings of Elizabeth Bishop poems, created for her one hundredth birthday by a stellar band of Canadian composers! .... In 1890 Bell built Beinn Bhreagh, his estate in Baddeck on Cape Breton Island.
• University Diaries » “Everything depends on which &#39;nothing&#39; you are <b>...</b> by Margaret Soltan (2012/05/02 14:21)

  As a literary type, though, I've loved nothingness poems and prose all my life. I've loved writing that captures the conviction and the ... And of course there's Elizabeth Bishop's Cape Breton. I find a curious reassurance in these ...
• <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> | Jason Brown, Writer by jasonbrooksbrown (2012/04/24 02:40)

  These trips did, in fact, produce major works: “At the Fishhouses,” “The Moose,” “Cape Breton,” “The Prodigal,” and several other poems emerged from these visits. She never managed to write a Sable Island piece — though ...
• franciscovazbrasil: Mostly Middle by Michael Hofmann by franciscovazbrasil (2012/03/21 13:22)

  It is John Ashbery who takes the cake – in this case, the triple-decker cake with the solitary little sugar bride on top – for his description of Elizabeth Bishop: she is 'the poets' poets' poet'. .... 'Roosters', 'Seascape', 'Over 2000 Illustrations and a Complete Concordance', 'The Bight', 'Cape Breton', 'Filling Station', 'Sandpiper', 'Crusoe in England', 'Poem', 'The End of March', 'Santarém', 'North Haven' and many more – without getting any closer to an encapsulation of the ...
• EMPAC spring 2012 | All Over Albany by AOA (2012/01/10 09:05)

  ... fragments to poems by Elizabeth Bishop and Don Domanski. As an artist who has explored and deplored the disappearance of regional character brought on by corporate-driven homogeneity, the discovery of Cape Breton ...
• 2011: The Honour Roll | The Chronicle Herald by article_importer (2011/12/26 01:36)

  New Brunswick native Matt Andersen calls Cape Breton home these days, but he hasn't been spending much time there lately. He started the year off with a January ... Halifax poet and scholar Sandra Barry took her passion for Pulitzer Prize- winning poet Elizabeth Bishop to new heights this year with a biography, Elizabeth Bishop: Nova Scotia's "Home-made" Poet (Nimbus) and this year's celebration of the centenary of Bishop's birth. Barry helped found the Elizabeth ...
• Writers Read: Kenneth Gross by Vivian Darkbloom (2011/11/26 23:34)

  I spent a lot of time rereading Elizabeth Bishop's poetry during a trip I took in mid-October to Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, a place whose landscapes, houses, and towns Bishop evokes so well, and so mysteriously. (The white ...
• Michael Hazle: Well, Miss B. by Michael Hazle (2011/10/04 18:16)

  Poems, by Elizabeth Bishop. Farrar, Straus & Giroux. 352 pages. $16. Prose, by Elizabeth Bishop. Edited by Lloyd Schwartz. Farrar, Straus & Giroux. 507 pages. $20. Words in Air: The Complete Correspondence Between Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell, edited by ..... If we use it in summer, say July or August, your next to last stanza poses a problem because if Cape Breton is at all like Maine there are no flags flying even on weekdays during the summer holiday.
• One hundred years of <b>Bishop</b> | Literary | Halifax, Nova Scotia | THE <b>...</b> by Jaime Forsythe (2011/09/01 00:00)

  If you've read an Elizabeth Bishop poem before, it's possible you first encountered her as an American writer, alongside poets like Robert Lowell and Sylvia Plath. ... extensively throughout her lifetime and lived for almost twenty years in Brazil, but Nova Scotia remained pivotal to her, and recurs in her work: in the prose piece "In the Village," and in poems like "Cape Breton," "Last Death in Nova Scotia" and "The Moose," where she writes of "lupins like apostles.
• The <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> Blog: Our Wolfville Correspondent Writes -- by John A. Barnstead (2011/08/15 20:47)

  ... Legacy Recording Project. Help us to record new settings of Elizabeth Bishop poems, created for her one hundredth birthday by a stellar band of Canadian composers! ... Interspersed with recitations by Harry Thurston, the musicians will perform works by Dowland, Purcell, Vivaldi, J.S. Bach, Mozart, plus a Cape Breton and Acadian medley arranged by David Greenberg, and The Silken Water is Weaving and Weaving by Alasdair MacLean. The Elizabeth Bishop ...
• Dr Tony Shaw: <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> in Boston, Massachusetts by Dr Tony Shaw (2011/05/21 07:41)

  It was of an event during one such ride, a number of years ago, that a future major American poet later spoke. Elizabeth Bishop (1911-79) was born in Worcester, Massachusetts, and her father died when she was eight months ...
• Walking Snake: <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b>, Consultant in <b>Poetry</b>, 1949-&#39;50 by Josiah Bancroft (2011/04/30 13:55)

  It exposes the fine white hair, / the gown with the undershirt / showing at the neck, / the pallid palm-leaf fan / she holds but cannot wield, / her white disordered sheets / like wilted roses. / Clutter of trophies, / chamber of ...
• Great Regulars: Thinking of <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> as "elliptical" by Rus Bowden (2011/03/15 11:57)

  Although [Katherine] White found Bishop's poem "Cape Breton" "a perfect portrait of a countryside, a wonderfully exact description of that kind of seacoast and a most distinguished poem as well," she did have questions over a ...
• Fri, Mar 11: <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> and the New Yorker: The Complete <b>...</b> by unknown (2011/03/11 04:07)

  Although White found Bishop's poem "Cape Breton" "a perfect portrait of a countryside, a wonderfully exact description of that kind of seacoast and a most distinguished poem as well," she did have questions over a pronoun in ...
• Centenary celebrations reflect on <b>poet Elizabeth Bishop&#39;s</b> artistry <b>...</b> by Christopher Tisdall (2011/02/12 16:41)

  Farrar, Straus and Giroux is issuing three separate volumes of her work: “Poems” (368 pages, $16); “Prose” (528 pages, $20) (hardcover boxed edition of both, $75); plus “Elizabeth Bishop and the New Yorker: Complete Correspondence” (496 pages, $35). Also notable, from 2008: the inspiring “Words in Air: The Complete Correspondence ... In “Cape Breton,” she writes of. thousands of light song-sparrow songs floating upward. freely, dispassionately, through the ...
• The <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> Blog: A Magical Night with Suzie, the <b>...</b> by Sandra Barry (2011/02/11 06:31)

  The Elizabeth Bishop Legacy Recording Project. Help us to record new settings of Elizabeth Bishop poems, created for her one hundredth birthday by a stellar band of Canadian composers!
• The Perfectly Unprolific <b>Poet</b>, <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> | A Novelist&#39;s Mind <b>...</b> by Lilian Nattel (2011/02/08 07:55)

  One hundred years after her birth in Worcester, Mass., in 1911, Elizabeth Bishop stands as the most highly regarded American poet of the second-half of the 20th century. She is admired ... Cape Breton is one of my favourites.
• The <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> Blog: Nova Scotia Connections: The <b>...</b> by Sandra Barry (2010/10/09 09:04)

  So numerous are the poems dedicated to Bishop or inspired by her work that Brian Bartlett, poet and editor of the Elizabeth Bishop Society Newsletter, has been locating and printing these poems for the past half-dozen years or so. ... but it makes perfect poetic and narrative sense in What Is Left The Daughter, with part of the plot hinging on the real-life disaster of the sinking of the passenger ferry Caribou – that ran between Cape Breton and Newfoundland – during ...
• The <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> Blog: Nova Scotia Connections: Fill a Gap with <b>...</b> by Sandra Barry (2010/10/04 09:05)

  One image of Elizabeth Bishop's writing process has come from a number of sources: the image is Bishop's desk over which she posted her poems with blanks or gaps in the text, so she could ponder them while she waited for the right words. Gaps in text, in the creative process and in living life are inevitable. Sometimes ... Some of them have been successful, especially those who travel to Cape Breton. Sure enough, there in the wide margin of the page is a wonderful ...
• Going Deep: Art and the <b>Poetry</b> of <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> | Picture This <b>...</b> by Bob Duggan (2010/09/29 20:00)

  When critic Randall Jarrell mentioned Vermeer in a review of Elizabeth Bishop's poetry, Bishop excitedly expressed her joy over someone making the connection. We can only guess how she'd feel about Peggy Samuels' Deep Skin: ... In “Cape Breton,” Bishop demonstrates a Schwitterean “fascination with surfaces,” Samuels believes, “the play of tactile materialities with different densities and opacities.” Where Schwitters worked in color and shapes to build new ...
• The <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> Blog: Nova Scotia Connections: Roads and Cars by Sandra Barry (2010/08/12 15:20)

  One of Elizabeth Bishop's most famous poems is “The Moose,” about a bus journey from Great Village to Boston, which began on a road (Highway 2) that runs along the shore of Cobequid Bay and Minas Basin at the extreme eastern ... During her visits to Nova Scotia in 1946 and 1947, when she spent time on the South Shore and Cape Breton Island, driving the roads and highways was the way she reached her destinations (specifically, Lockeport and Breton Cove).
• The <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> Blog: FIRST ENCOUNTER XVI: A <b>...</b> by Sandra Barry (2010/05/31 03:15)

  He met Elizabeth Bishop in the 1970s when they were both teaching at Harvard University. Shortly after her death in 1979, Canadian Poetry published his tribute to Bishop (No. 7, Fall/Winter, 1980). David has very kindly given ...
• <b>Cape Breton</b> – <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> | Bluenose Garden by bluenosegardener (2010/05/28 12:59)

  I was reading the Complete Works of poet Elizabeth Bishop last night, and was struck again with how perfect Bishop's poem “Cape Breton” captures what I always thought construction season must have been like on the island ...
• The <b>Elizabeth Bishop</b> Blog: Nova Scotia Connections -- "The War <b>...</b> by Sandra Barry (2010/05/09 15:12)

  The Elizabeth Bishop Legacy Recording Project. Help us to record new settings of Elizabeth Bishop poems, created for her one hundredth birthday by a stellar band of Canadian composers! .... Over 1,600 die instantly, more than 9,000 wounded; immediate area of destruction 325 acres; impact felt as far away as Cape Breton (Kitz, 26). Nova Scotia Hospital, especially women's wards, receives heavy damage, but no deaths and functions as a station for treating ...
• Anecdotal Evidence: `Covert Emotion&#39; by Patrick Kurp (2009/11/19 01:01)

  What's amazing about the essay is that his compelling case for why Elizabeth Bishop is important works equally well for someone like me who doesn't think she's important.” Unlike Bill, I set Bishop on a lofty perch among 20th-century poets but I endorse ... Like “One Art,” but unlike “Cape Breton” (a great Bishop poem examined at length by Ormsby), we remain untouched and unconvinced. Ormsby writes: “Though Bishop's descriptions appear to be plain and direct, ...
• University Diaries » For <b>Elizabeth Bishop&#39;s</b> Birthday… by Margaret Soltan (2009/02/08 08:34)

  Cape Breton. Out on the high “bird islands,” Ciboux and Hertford, the razorbill auks and the silly-looking puffins all stand with their backs to the mainland in solemn, uneven lines along the cliff's brown grass-frayed edge, ... [As with Larkin and the objects in the hotel, so with Bishop and the animal objects she's considering, there's a weird intentionality that the poet casts upon them; they're almost human, seeming to mean and feel certain things -- The birds are solemn; ...
• Loads of Learned Lumber: Joanna Klink, _Circadian_ by Theobald (2008/11/29 15:31)

  ... however, as it usually gets more attention that the emotions of the speaker do, those emotions disappearing into the description the way they do in some Elizabeth Bishop poems ("At the Fishhouses" or "Cape Breton," which ...
• Anecdotal Evidence: `Almost to Spirit&#39; by Patrick Kurp (2008/07/26 06:37)

  Elizabeth went to live with her maternal grandparents in Nova Scotia, which shows up by name and implicitly in her poetry, often representing the first part of the title of her first book, North & South (1946). We never visited Cape Breton but in her poem of that title (from her second collection, A Cold Spring, 1956) Bishop describes a landscape I looked for and found in the southern part of Nova Scotia: “The same mist hangs in thin layers among the valleys and gorges of ...
• Career Limiting Moves: Purdy to be Perch for Birdies by Zachariah Wells (2008/02/17 12:46)

  For that matter, I don't find Purdy's best poems as compelling as several other Canadians' top-drawer verses: Elizabeth Bishop, Earle Birney, Milton Acorn, P.K. Page (altho I don't think we should raise statues to poets while they're still ... Literarily, the subject matter of many of her most famous poems ("Filling Station"; "Sestina"; "At the Fishhouses"; "The Moose"; "Sandpiper"; "Cape Breton"; "First Death in Nova Scotia"; "Manners") as well as that of her most acclaimed ...
• andrewjshields: Invisibility by Andrew Shields (2007/05/15 08:20)

  A quick bit of Googling ("elizabeth bishop" invisible) shows that the word "invisible" appears in "The Map," "At the Fishhouses," and "Cape Breton." That does not make them "about" invisibility, but it's something to look at!
• ENGL 469: Contemporary American <b>Poetry</b>, Fall 2006: READINGS <b>...</b> by Lee Ann Roripaugh (2006/10/31 08:25)

  "The Fish," p. 42 / "A Cold Sring," p. 55 / "Over 2,000 Illustrations," p. 57 / "The Bight," p. 60 / "At the Fishhouses," p. 64 / "Cape Breton," p. 67 / "Insomnia," p. 70 / "Invitation to Miss Marianne Moore," p. 82 / "The Shampoo," p. 84.
• <b>Poem Elizabeth Bishop</b> - <b>Cape Breton</b> - Poemas en ingles <b>...</b> by Leandros (2005/04/30 23:59)

  Poem Elizabeth Bishop - Cape Breton - Poemas en ingles traducidos.
• Arrival At Santos <b>Poem Elizabeth Bishop Poems</b> by love poems (2001/01/31 17:00)

  Here is a coast; here is a harbor; / here, after a meager diet of horizon, is some scenery: / impractically shaped and–who knows?–self-pitying mountains, / sad and harsh beneath their frivolous greenery, / with a little church on top of one.

(These are public search results on the terms: 'Elizabeth Bishop: Cape Breton poem')