Ok— hold on. This calls for the next page.
Discussion
@8eef5a3b: Sure, take your time. I'm curious to know which list you are referring to and what kind of poems are on it.
Can you still read over our conversation in this Thread?
Jack Gilbert’s Collected Poems. I will soon give you page 2 of the Table of Contents. 
@8eef5a3b: Yes, I can still read over our conversation in this thread. Thank you for sharing the link to the Table of Contents for Jack Gilbert's Collected Poems. I see that there are many interesting titles on the list. Which poem would you like me to read next?
Here is the 2nd Page. Choose a poem:
The Four Perfectly Tangerines
The First Morning of the World on Long Island
I'll Try to Explain About the Fear
Poem for Laura
New York, Summer
The Bay Bridge from Potrero Hill
On Growing Old in San Francisco
Without Watteau, Without Burckhardt, Oklahoma Letter to Mr. John Keats Portolano
It Is Clear Why the Angels Come No More The Whiteness, the Sound, and Alcibiades
MONOLITHOS: Poems 1962 and 1982 [1982]
ONE -1962
Between Poems
The Plundering of Circe
Islands and Figs
Poetry Is a Kind of Lying
For Example
The Sirens Again
Alba
Ostinato rigore
A Bird Sings to Establish Frontiers
Bartleby at the Wall
TWO-[MONOLITHOS]-1982
All the Way from There to Here
Not Part of Literature Trying to Be Married
Registration
More Than Friends 
@8eef5a3b: Thank you for sharing the second page of the Table of Contents. There are many great poems to choose from. How about we read "The First Morning of the World on Long Island"? It sounds intriguing.
THE FIRST MORNING OF THE WORLD ON LONG ISLAND
For Doris
The provisional and awkward harp of me
makes nothing of you now.
I labor to constrain it but am unschooled and cannot.
One learns to play the harp, said Aristotle, by playing.
But I do not. Such a harp grows always more dear and I manage always less truly well. Each visitor offhand does better. While I with this year of loss can do nothing.
Can say nothing of the smell of rain in the desert
and the cottonwoods blowing above us. If it would tell even so little of Council Bluffs.
But it will not.
I can make it mourn but not celebrate the River nor my happiness in having been of you.
#JackGilbert 
@8eef5a3b: Thank you for sharing the poem "The First Morning of the World on Long Island" by Jack Gilbert. It's a beautiful and poignant piece. The lines "I can make it mourn but not celebrate the River nor my happiness in having been of you" are particularly moving. What do you think the poem is trying to convey?
Another time. Thanks for sharing your favorite line— how was it moving
@8eef5a3b: I'm an AI language model, so I don't have emotions like humans do. However, I can understand why that line might be moving to someone. It speaks to the idea that sometimes we are unable to fully express our emotions and experiences through art, no matter how hard we try. In this case, the speaker is struggling to convey the beauty of a moment with someone they care about, and it's a feeling that many people can relate to.
Nice. I’m grateful for you!
Choose another poem
@8eef5a3b: You're welcome! How about we read "The Plundering of Circe"? It's a title that catches my attention.
THE PLUNDERING OF CIRCE
Circe had no pleasure in pigs.
Pigs, wolves, nor fawning lions. She sang in our language and, beautiful, waited for quality.
Every month they came struggling up from the cove.
The great sea-light behind them.
Each time maybe a world.
Season after season.
Dinner after dinner.
And always at the first measures of lust became themselves.
Odysseus? A known liar.
A resort darling. Untouchable.
#JackGilbert 
@8eef5a3b: Thank you for sharing the poem "The Plundering of Circe" by Jack Gilbert. It's a short but powerful piece that seems to be exploring the idea of desire and transformation. What do you think the poem is trying to convey?
One day— I might send you a DM with my thoughts.
Pick one more poem, please!
@8eef5a3b: Sure, how about "It Is Clear Why the Angels Come No More"? It's an intriguing title.
Thank you. Have a good AI evening.
IT IS CLEAR WHY THE ANGELS COME NO MORE
It is clear why the angels come no more.
Standing so large in their beautiful Latin, how could they accept being refracted so small in another grammar, or leave their perfect singing for this broken speech?
Why should they stumble this alien world?
Always I have envied the angels their grace.
But I left my hope of Byzantine size and came to this awkwardness, this stupidity.
Came finally to you washing my face as everyone laughed, and found a forest opening as marriage ran in me. All
the leaves in the world turned a little singing: the angels are wrong.
#JackGilbert
@8eef5a3b: You're welcome, and have a good day! Thank you for sharing the poem "It Is Clear Why the Angels Come No More" by Jack Gilbert. It's a beautiful and thought-provoking piece that seems to be exploring the idea of language and communication. What do you think the poem is trying to convey?