#penn warren

[daslandihrergeburt]

Robert Penn Warren, Audubon.

[ilime]

Tell me a story.

In this century, and moment, of mania,

Tell me a story.

Make it a story of great distances, and starlight.

The name of the story will be Time,

But you must not pronounce its name.

Tell me a story of deep delight.

Raccontami una storia.

In questo secolo, e momento, di mania,

raccontami una storia.

Fanne una storia di grandi

Distanze, e di chiarore stellare.

Il nome della storia sarà Tempo,

Ma non devi pronunciare il suo nome.

Raccontami una storia di delizia

Profonda

Robert Penn Warren, Tell me a story

[theshatterednotes]

Robert Penn Warren

[timebythetail]

Evening Hawk - Robert Penn Warren From plane of light to plane, wings dipping through Geometries and orchids that the sunset builds, Out of the peak's black angularity of shadow, riding The last tumultuous avalanche of Light above pines and the guttural gorge, The hawk comes. His wing Scythes down another day, his motion Is that of the honed steel-edge, we hear The crashless fall of stalks of Time.

The head of each stalk is heavy with the gold of our error.

Look! Look! he is climbing the last light Who knows neither Time nor error, and under Whose eye, unforgiving, the world, unforgiven, swings Into shadow.

Long now, The last thrush is still, the last bat Now cruises in his sharp hieroglyphics. His wisdom Is ancient, too, and immense. The star Is steady, like Plato, over the mountain.

If there were no wind we might, we think, hear The earth grind on its axis, or history Drip in darkness like a leaking pipe in the cellar.

[700verses]

The sky was darker now, with a purplish, greenish cast. The

color of a turning grape. But it still looked high, with worlds of air

under it. A gull crossed, very high, directly above me. Against the

sky it was whiter even than the sail had been. It passed clear across

all the sky I could see.

Robert Penn Warren - All the King’s Men

[literarystarbucks]

Penn Warren

Robert Penn Warren goes up to the counter and orders black coffee. He chugs the drink and slams it down on the table. Warren looks up at the apron-clad barista, seeing not a twenty-something operating an espresso machine but instead a successful politician at the brink of success. They are tied together now. He hears gunfire behind the counter. Warren calls out for a doctor.

[akratic]

The end of man is knowledge, but there is one thing he can't know. He can't know whether knowledge will save him or kill him. He will be killed, all right, but he can't know whether he is killed because of the knowledge which he has got or because of the knowledge which he hasn't got and which if he had it, would save him. There's the cold in your stomach, but you open the envelope, you have to open the envelope, for the end of man is to know.

Robert Penn Warren, All the King's Men