Many thanks to you — Long John

   

It was a strange collection, like Billy Bones’s hoard for the diversity of coinage, but so much larger and so much more varied that I think I never had more pleasure than in sorting them. English, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Georges, and Louises, doubloons and double guineas and moidores and sequins, the pictures of all the kings of Europe for the last hundred years, strange Oriental pieces stamped with what looked like wisps of string or bits of spider’s web, round pieces and square pieces, and pieces bored through the middle, as if to wear them round your neck — nearly every variety of money in the world must, I think, have found a place in that collection; and for number, I am sure they were like autumn leaves, so that my back ached with stooping and my fingers with sorting them out.

(... )

At last, seeing the ship still bore on her course and was now swiftly drawing out of earshot, one of them — I know not which it was — leapt to his feet with a hoarse cry, whipped his musket to his shoulder, and sent a shot whistling over Silver’s head and through the mainsail.

After that, we kept under cover of the bulwarks, and when next I looked out they had disappeared from the spit, and the spit itself had almost melted out of sight in the growing distance. That was, at least, the end of that; and before noon, to my inexpressible joy, the highest rock of Treasure Island had sunk into the blue round of sea.

(... )

Ben Gunn was on deck alone, and as soon as we came on board he began, with wonderful contortions, to make us a confession. Silver was gone. The maroon had connived at his escape in a shore boat some hours ago, and he now assured us he had only done so to preserve our lives, which would certainly have been forfeit if “that man with the one leg had stayed aboard.” But this was not all. The sea cook had not gone empty-handed. He had cut through a bulkhead unobserved and had removed one of the sacks of coin, worth perhaps three or four hundred guineas, to help him on his further wanderings.

(... )

The bar silver and the arms still lie, for all that I know, where Flint buried them; and certainly they shall lie there for me. Oxen and wain-ropes would not bring me back again to that accursed island; and the worst dreams that ever I have are when I hear the surf booming about its coasts or start upright in bed with the sharp voice of Captain Flint still ringing in my ears: “Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!”

Captain Silver

   
There was a long pause after this. I stood straight up against the wall, my heart still going like a sledge-hammer, but with a ray of hope now shining in my bosom. Silver leant back against the wall, his arms crossed, his pipe in the corner of his mouth, as calm as though he had been in church; yet his eye kept wandering furtively, and he kept the tail of it on his unruly followers. They, on their part, drew gradually together towards the far end of the block house, and the low hiss of their whispering sounded in my ear continuously, like a stream. One after another, they would look up, and the red light of the torch would fall for a second on their nervous faces; but it was not towards me, it was towards Silver that they turned their eyes.

Israel Hands

   

Before he could recover, I was safe out of the corner where he had me trapped, with all the deck to dodge about. Just forward of the main-mast I stopped, drew a pistol from my pocket, took a cool aim, though he had already turned and was once more coming directly after me, and drew the trigger. The hammer fell, but there followed neither flash nor sound; the priming was useless with sea-water. I cursed myself for my neglect. Why had not I, long before, reprimed and reloaded my only weapons? Then I should not have been as now, a mere fleeing sheep before this butcher.

( . . . )

I was drinking in his words and smiling away, as conceited as a cock upon a wall, when, all in a breath, back went his right hand over his shoulder. Something sang like an arrow through the air; I felt a blow and then a sharp pang, and there I was pinned by the shoulder to the mast. In the horrid pain and surprise of the moment—I scarce can say it was by my own volition, and I am sure it was without a conscious aim— both my pistols went off, and both escaped out of my hands. They did not fall alone; with a choked cry, the coxswain loosed his grasp upon the shrouds and plunged head first into the water.

A deep silence filled the classroom at first; then we all burst into cheers — and so, another afternoon went by on 1965, forever ours, treasured and lost.

That school afternoon . . .

   
   
All the time he was jerking out these phrases he was stumping up and down the tavern on his crutch, slapping tables with his hand, and giving such a show of excitement as would have convinced an Old Bailey judge or a Bow Street runner. My suspicions had been thoroughly reawakened on finding Black Dog at the ‘Spy-glass’, and I watched the cook narrowly. But he was too deep, and too ready, and too clever for me, and by the time the two men had come back out of breath and confessed that they had lost the track in a crowd, and been scolded like thieves, I would have gone bail for the innocence of Long John Silver.




And so it happened that, after reading that last paragraph, we all knew the fine boy was in deep trouble . . .

Treasure Island; by Robert Louis Stevenson

   
   

SQUIRE TRELAWNEY, Dr Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, I take up my pen in the year of grace 17— and go back to the time when my father kept the Admiral Benbow inn and the brown old seaman with the sabre cut first took up his lodging under our roof.

And so — this is how it begins, my friend — and never ends.

Hopper at Home ((( First Presentation )))

  

  

Lighthouse Hill (1927)

We came down the path

and the light blew

the west

Excursion Into Philosophy (1959)

My heart was the sun

on the wall

at my back

Gas (1940)

One car arrives

One car leaves

I stay

Compartment C, Car 293 (1938)

The words were not good —

sad thing to realize

at evening and middleway

Chair-car (1965)

Some were going

Some were coming

I was just sitting in for the ride

Nighthawks (1942)

She kept talking

And I kept thinking

why was I not drunk

Railroad Sunset (1929)

The sun carried away

the train

and we were gone

Road in Maine (1914)

I waited under the evening lights

but it was never

enough

Summer Evening (1947)

You said not a word

under the still light

good-bye you said not

Self-portrait (1925-1930)

He wanted to paint the sunlight

he said

and the sunlight came

A Woman in the Sun (1961)

The sun gave her

a name

and she answered

Apartment Houses (1923)

I looked at her every morning

and she didn't know

I even had eyes

Approaching a City (1946)

I departed with no memory

and slept —

Now I smile

Light at Two Lights (1927)

We walked all day

and said not a word:

the world was our dirty patch of sand

New York Movie (1939)

Sitting at the back

we struggled with each other —

we knew the world was ending

The Mansard Roof (1923)

We wanted to go out

but grandpa said it was too early —

so we decided to climb

House at Dusk (1939)

She wrote me a letter

but I didn't know how to read it —

A letter she tore down

Hotel by the Railroad (1953)

I had to go — you know

It was not a personal matter

almost

Blue Night (1914)

The clown is dead

Don't shoot the clown

The clown is you

Office at Night (1940)

Everyday I stayed after-hours

to read the poems you wrote —

and then you were gone

El Palacio (1946)

We used to walk by sundown —

Now I just go to the roof

and miss you

Automat (1927)

As cold

as coffee

is dark

Drug Store (1927)

My pain was mine to keep

Came the night my name

So call inward the old seed

Two Comedians (1965)

My dance was yours

and mine

your smile

Pennsylvania Coal Town (1947)

You don't remember

my name

under the lawn

Chop Suey (1929)

You painted me

over your bowl of rice

and forgot my thirst

Prospect Street, Gloucester (1928)

We lived merrily

and we're dead now

in your eyes

Early Sunday Morning (1930)

Early — very early

I was looking for you

into a blind place