gri_2003_m_46_b03_f07_014
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- Mean dissimilarity: 0.033
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Transcribers
- 65887376 - Mel492
- WINNER - 65939793 - pleiades33
- 66002905 - Preacher357
- 66086646 - gaart2
- 66134356 - Cincotta1
- 66163019 - tinkapuppy
65887376 - Mel492
THE DEREALISED ISLAND iiiNeptune and two fish-wives crown a ware-house,
Baskets replacing urns for industry.
I pace the quay among the huge ear-rings
That rest upon the stone: sublunar me
Beneath the bridge remote in mist,
Where the sun floats in temperate shower
That stops the heat from parching beauty's faces.
Permanent stalactites pallidly descend!
The sun is an orange in the nature Mortensen.
The only import on the ruinous table,
With broken glass and cinder-leaves,
Empty kicked-in biscuit tins
Rising in corroded pyramids,
Where pylons, girders, funnels, bar the sky
With mechanical trapezes
Like singeries for legions of ape.
Music defines the cafe with its sighs
And aural equivalents for warmth:
Outside the rain falls like baroque curtains
From the family portraits of the sky;
Sand is blown across the promenade
As across a treaty signed by Winter
And along coast in mounting waves
Disintegrating suits of armour roll.
The pier projects beyond the slimed boulders
Under which the giants still move like tides
And butt the girders with half-buried heads:
Planning a poem long enough for giants
Of past revolt to read should they escape
I file the bars of mild topography,
Open and close my eyes along the route,
And catch the falling leaves in Constable's country.
October-November 1950
WINNER - 65939793 - pleiades33
THE DEREALISED ISLAND iiiNeptune and two fish-wives crown a ware-house,
Baskets replacing urns for industry.
I pace the quay among the huge ear-rings
That rest upon the stone: sublunar me
Beneath the bridge remote in mist,
Where the sun floats in a temperate shower
That stops the heat from parching beauty's faces.
Permanent stalactites pallidly descend!
The sun is an orange in the nature morte,
The only import on the ruinous table,
With broken glass and cinder-leaves,
Empty kicked-in biscuit tins
Rising in corroded pyramids,
Where pylons, girders, funnels, bar the sky
With mechanical trapezees
Like singeries for legions of ape.
Music defines the cafe with its sighs
And aural equivalents for warmth:
Outside the rain falls like baroque curtains
From the family portraits of the sky;
Sand is blown across the promenade
As across a treaty signed by Winter
And along the coast in mounting waves
Disintegrating suits of armour roll.
The pier projects beyond the slimed boulders
Under which the giants still move like tides
And butt the girders with half-buried heads:
Planning a poem long enough for giants
Of past revolt to read should they escape
I file the bars of mild topography,
Open and close my eyes along the route,
And catch the falling leaves in Constable's country.
October-November 1950
66002905 - Preacher357
THE DEREALISED ISLAND iiiNeptune and two fish-wives crown a ware-house,
Baskets replacing urns for industry.
I pace the quay among the huge ear-rings
That rest upon the stone: subluner me
Beneath the bridge remote in mist,
Where the sun floats in a temperate shower
That stops the heat from parching beauty's faces.
Permanent stalactites pallidly descend;
The sun is an orange in the nature morte,
The only import on the ruinous table,
With broken glass and cinder-leaves,
Empty kicked-in biscuit tins
Rising in corroded pyramids,
Where pylons, girders, funnels, bar the sky
With mechanical trapezees
Like singeries for legions of ape.
Music defines the cafe with its sighs
And aural equivalents for warmth:
Outside the rain falls like baroque curtains
From the family portraits of the sky;
Sand is blown across the promenade
As across a treaty signed by Winter
And along the coast in mounting waves
Disintegrating suits of armour roll.
The pier projects beyond the slimed boulders
Under which the giants still move like tides
And butt the girders with half-buried heads:
Planning a poem long enough for giants
Of past revolt to road should they escape
I file the bars of mild topography,
Open and close my eyes along the route,
And catch the falling leaves in Constable's country.
October-November 1950
66086646 - gaart2
THE DEREALISED ISLAND iiiNeptune and two fish-wives crown a ware-house,
Baskets replacing urns for industry.
I pace the quay among the huge ear-rings
That rest upon the stone: sublunar me
Beneath the bridge remote in mist,
Where the sun floats in a temperate shower
That stops the heat from parching beauty's faces.
Permanent stalactites pallidly descend!
The sun us an orange in the nature morte,
The only import on the ruinous table,
With broken glass and cinder-leaves,
Empty kicked-in biscuit tins
Rising in corroded pyramids,
Where pylons, girders, funnels, bar the sky
With mechanical trapezees
Like singeries for legions of ape.
Music defines the caf'e with its sighs
And aural equivalent for warmth:
Outside the rain falls like baroque curtains
From the family portraits of the sky;
Sand is blown across the promenade
As across a treaty signed by Winter
And along the coast in mounting waves
Disintegrating suits of armour roll.
The pier projects beyond the slimed boulders
Under which the giants move like tides
And butt the girders with half-buried heads:
Planning a poem long enough for giants
Of past revolt to read should they escape
I file the bars of mild topography,
Open and close my eyes along the route,
And catch the falling leaves in Constable's country.
October-November 1950
66134356 - Cincotta1
THE DEREALISE ISLAND iiiNeptune and two fish-wives crown a ware-house, Baskets replacing urns for industry.
I pace the quay among the huge ear-rings
That rest upon the stone: sublunar me
Beneath the bridge remote in mist,
Where the sun floats in a temperate shower
That stops the heat from parching beauty's faces.
Permanent stalactites pallidly descend!
The sun is an orange in the nature morte,
The only import on the ruinous table,
With broken glass and cinder-loaves,
Empty kicked-in biscuit tins
Rising in corroded pyramids,
Where pylons, girders, funnels, bar the sky
With mechanical trapezees
Like singers for legions of ape.
Music defines the cafe with its sighs
And aural equivalents for warmth:
Outside the rain falls like baroque curtains
From the family portraits of the sky;
Sand is blown across the promenade
As across a treaty signed by Winter
And along the coast in mounting waves
Disintegrating suits of armour roll.
The pier projects beyond the slimed boulders
Under which the giants still move like tides
And butt the girders with half-buried heads:
Planning a poem long enough for giants
Of past revolt to read should they escape
I file the bars of mild topography,
Open and close my eyes along the route,
And catch the falling leaves in Constable's country
October-November 1950
66163019 - tinkapuppy
THE DEREALISED ISLAND iiiNeptune and two fish-wives crown a ware-house,
Baskets replacing urns for industry.
I pace the quay among the huge ear-rings
That rest upon the stone: sublunar me
Beneath the bridge remote in mist,
Where the sun floats in a temperate shower
That stops the heat from parching beauty's faces.
Permanent stalactites pallidly descend!
The sun is an orange in the nature morte,
The only import on the ruinous table,
With broken glass and cinder-loaves,
Empty kicked-in biscuit tins
Rising in corroded pyramids,
Where pylons, girders, funnels, bar the sky
With mechanical trapezes
Like singeries for legions of ape.
Music defines the cafe with its sighs
And aural equivalents for warmth:
Outside the rain falls like baroque curtains
From the family portraits of the sky:
Sand is blown across the promenade
As across a treaty signed by Winter
And along the coast in mounting waves
Disintegrating suits of armor roll.
The pier projects beyond the slimed boulders
Under which the giants still move like tides
And butt the girders with half-buried heads:
Planning a poem long enough for giants
Of past revolt to read should they escape
I file the bars of mild topography,
Open and close my eyes along the route,
And catch the falling leaves in Constable's country.
October-November 1950