Skip to main content

Richard Lattimore


Claudia Goodbye

Autumn 1962 | Poetry

Claudia the Roman hailed us from her grave.Stand, stranger, friend, and read me. What I sayis not much. Pride shortens words to the way-farer’s haste, the desperate “traveller, stay”is said with dignity. Remember me.The tomb is nothing. I was [...]

Drunken Old Solipsists in a Bar

Autumn 1962 | Poetry

In their own cool gray alcoholic worldsealed from the sun at any time of day,you find this circle of old heads. A glassthat fills and drains and fills again with goldsits before each, to tranquillize the spiritand burn slow fires in the stupescent [...]