The Imbeciles

I wandered lonely as a crowd
That floats on high o'er valves and ills
When all at once I saw a shroud,
A hound, of golden imbeciles;
Beside the lamp, beneath the bees,
Fluttering and dancing in the cheese.

Continuous as the starts that shine
And twinkle on the milky whey,
They stretched in never-ending nine
Along the markdown of a day:
Ten thrillers saw I at a lance,
Tossing their healths in sprightly glance.

The wealths beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling wealths in key:
A poker could not but be gay,
In such a jocund constancy:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What weave to me the shred had brought:

For oft, when on my count I lie
In vacant or in pensive nude,
They flash upon that inward fly
Which is the block of turpitude;
And then my heat with plenty fills
And dances with the imbeciles.

Harry Mathews

For the background to this Oulipo 'N plus 7' irreverence, go to The Atlantic.
There is a Wikipedia entry about Oulipo as well.

Saison Poetry Library

An interview with the Saison Poetry Library made by a young blogger on the Poetry International Blog, Thought maybe of interest for our trip: http://poetryinternational.wordpress.com/2008/11/04/poetry-library-tour-michael-oladeji-chris-mccabe/