gri_2003_m_46_b05_f12_011
- Max. dissimilarity: 0.193
- Mean dissimilarity: 0.102
- Image votes: 0.0
Transcribers
- WINNER - 68722682 - tmeconverse
- 69529513 - neko
- 70133188 - Preacher357
- 71236040 - Eboo
- 71783993 - akoconnor
- 72497321 - not-logged-in-c1a674219a5154eed7c4
WINNER - 68722682 - tmeconverse
Blackheath5 xii '52
Dearest Sylvia
The view from the window is like a late Pasmore: a few of the most elegant trees, and a pale blueish void beyond them, and, above, a gentle, orange, muggy sun. It is a 10.30 winter morning sun. I am sitting facing the window & a soft orange light is on the paper and the pen and my hand make a pale blue elongated shadow.
I mentioned poems in an earlier letter. Some of them you know already - for example MUSES which is now extensively rewritten, but here are a few bits and pieces I am working on. First is a lyric as for a piece of dance-music (you know my perverse wish to master this style);
What do you write
In your diary at night
After we've said goodnight?
Do you say there
What I most want to hear
Or do you clinch my fear?
Am I only, someone to go dancing with
Someone to be late, never early with. . .
It is not finished yet: perhaps it isn't worth finishing. Then there is a poem I started at Chester:
The wall's a cat walk, town high.
Tick of the town clock rocks a head.
The going to light leaves us
With foreign spurs dark on the river.
69529513 - neko
Blackheath5 XII '52
Dearest Sylvia
The view from the window is like a late Parmore : a few of
the most elegant trees, and a pale blueish voic beyond them,
and, above, a gentle, orange, muzzy sun. It is a 10:30 winter
morning sun. I am sitting faivy the window is a soft orange
light is on the paper and the pen and my hand make a pale blue
elongated shadow.
I mentioned poems in an earlier letter. Some of them you
know already - for example MUSES which is now extensively
rewritten, but here are a few bits and pieces I am working on.
First is a lyric as for a piece of dance - music (you know my
reverence unclear]wins to modes this style):
What do you write
In your diary at night
After we've said goodnight?
Do you say there
What I most want to hear
Or do you clinch my fear?
Am I only, someone to go dancing with
Someone to be late, never early with....
It is not finished yet: perhaps it isn't worth finishing.
Then there is a poem I started at Chesters:
The wall's a cat walk, town high.
Tick of the town lock nocks a head.
The going of liger leanes us
With foreign spans dark on the river.
70133188 - Preacher357
Blackheath 5 XII '52 Dearest SylviaThe view from the window is like a late Pasmore: a few of
the most elegant trees, and a pale blueish void beyond them,
and, above, a gentle, orange, muggy seen. It is a 10:30 winter
morning seen. I am sitting facing the window & a soft orange
light is on the paper and the pen and my hand make a pale blue
elongated shadow.
I mentioned poems in an earlier letter. Some of them you
know already - for example MUSES which is now extensively
rewritten, but here are a few bits and pieces I am working on.
First is a lyric as for a piece of dance-music (you know my
perverse wish to master this style):
What do you write
In your diary at night
After we've said goodnight?
Do you say there
What I most want to hear
Or do you clinch my fear?
Am I only, someone to go dancing with
Someone to be late, never early....
It is not finished yet: perhaps it isn't worth finishing.
Then there is a poem I started at Chester:
The wall's a cat walk, town high.
Tick of the town clock rocks a head.
The going of light leaves us
With foreign spurs dark on the river.
71236040 - Eboo
Blackheath5 XII '52
Dearest Sylvia
The view from the window is like a late Pasmore: a few of
the most elegant trees, and a pale blueish void beyond them,
and, above, a gentle, orange, muggy sun. It is a 10.30 winter
morning sun. I am sitting facing the window a soft orange
light is on the paper and the pen and my hand make a pale blue
elongated shadow.
I mentioned poems in an earlier letter. Some of them you
have already - for example MUSES which is now extensively
rewritten, but here are a few bits and pieces I am working on.
First is a lyric as for a piece of dance-music (you know my
perverse wish to master this style):
What do you write
In your diary at night
After we've said goodnight?
Do you say there
What I most want to hear
Or do you clinch my fear?
Am I only, someone to go dancing with
Someone to be late never early with
It is not finished yet: perhaps it isn't worth finishing.
Then there is a poem I started at Chester:
The wall's a cat walk, town high.
Tick of the town clock rocks a head.
The going of light leaves us
With foreignspursdark on the lines
71783993 - akoconnor
Blackheath5 XII '52
Dearest Sylvia
The view from the window is like a late Pasvore: a few of
the most elegant trees, and a pale blueish void beyond them,
and, above, a gentle, orange, muggy sun. It is a 10.30 winter
morning sun. I am sitting the window & a soft orange
light is on the paper and the pen and my hand make a pale blue
elongated shadow.
I mentioned poems in an earlier letter. Some of them you
know already - for example MUSES which is now extensively
rewritten, but here are a few bits and pieces I am working on,
first is a lyric as for a piece of dance-music (you know my
perverse wish to master this style):
What do you write
In you diary at night
After we've said goodnight?
Do you say there
What I most want to hear
Or do you clinch my fear?
Am I only, someone to go dancing with
Someone to be late, never early with....
It is not finished yet: perhaps it isn't worth finishing.
Then there is a poem I started at Chester:
The wall's a cat walk, town high.
Talk of the town clock rocks a head.
The going of light leaves us
With foreign spaces dark on the river.
72497321 - not-logged-in-c1a674219a5154eed7c4
Blackheath5.11.52
Dearest Sylvia
The view from the window is like late Pasmore: a few of the most elegant trees, and a pale blueish void beyond them, and, above, a gentle, orange, muggy sun. It is a 10.30 winter morning sun. I am sitting facing the window & a soft orange light is on the paper and the pen and my hand makes a pale blue elongated shadow.
I mentioned poems in an earlier letter, some of them you know already - for example MUSES which is now extensively rewritten, but here are a few bits and pieces I am working on. First is a lyric as for a piece of dance music (you know my perverse wish to master this style):
What do you write
In your diary at night
After we've said goodnight?
Do you say there
What I most want to hear
Or do you clinch my fear?
Am I only someone to go dancing with
Someone to be late, never early with...
It is not finished yet: perhaps it isn't worth finishing. Then there is a poem I started at Chester:
The wall's a cat walk, town high.
Tick of the town clock rocks a head.
The going of light leaves us
With foreign spurs dark on the river.