He yelled at me in Greek, <br />my God!—It's not his language <br />and I'm no good at—his Aramaic, <br />was—I am a monoglot of English <br />(American version) and, say pieces from <br />a baker's dozen others: where's the bread? <br /> <br />but rising in the Second Gospel, pal: <br />The seed goes down, god dies, <br />a rising happens, <br />some crust, and then occurs an eating. He said so, <br />a Greek idea, <br />troublesome to imaginary Jews, <br /> <br />like a bitter Henry, full of the death of love, <br />Cawdor-uneasy, disambitious, mourning <br />the whole implausible necessary thing. <br />He dropped his voice & sybilled of <br />the death of the death of love. <br />I óught to get going.<br /><br />John Berryman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dream-song-48-he-yelled-at-me-in-greek/
