Harold Bloom, Critic Who Championed Western Canon, Dies at 89

“Blew. Blue bloom is on the.”

– Ulysses, 11:6




At his desk

In his Yale office 

A bookcase behind him 

His almosting weeping eyes 

Peering into the camera lens 



Moved as they move 

Over still words 

Guided by a blotchy, bloated finger 

The endpoint of a line beginning as softness on his tongue 

This softness speaks in my ear 

Assures me of the Value of passed things 

I resist this assurance 


Bloom said of Melville and Walt Whitman 

Two Manhattan men 

“They might have passed each other in the street” 

To me his mind seems a Borgesian Babel 

A literary Orbis Tertius 

Gardens of forking paths 


Trees of knowledge 

The fruits might have rotted by now 


The white leviathan dies 


The last page has been read 


Write a new page


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

Our YouTube Channel