Elizabeth Bishop

Here you will find the Long Poem The Burglar Of Babylon of poet Elizabeth Bishop

The Burglar Of Babylon

On the fair green hills of Rio
 There grows a fearful stain:
The poor who come to Rio
 And can't go home again.

On the hills a million people,
 A million sparrows, nest,
Like a confused migration
 That's had to light and rest,

Building its nests, or houses,
 Out of nothing at all, or air.
You'd think a breath would end them,
 They perch so lightly there.

But they cling and spread like lichen,
 And people come and come.
There's one hill called the Chicken,
 And one called Catacomb;

There's the hill of Kerosene,
 And the hill of Skeleton,
The hill of Astonishment,
 And the hill of Babylon.

Micuçú was a burglar and killer,
 An enemy of society.
He had escaped three times
 From the worst penitentiary.

They don't know how many he murdered
 (Though they say he never raped),
And he wounded two policemen
 This last time he escaped.

They said, "He'll go to his auntie,
 Who raised him like a son.
She has a little drink shop
 On the hill of Babylon."

He did go straight to his auntie,
 And he drank a final beer.
He told her, "The soldiers are coming,
 And I've got to disappear."

"Ninety years they gave me.
 Who wants to live that long?
I'll settle for ninety hours,
 On the hill of Babylon.

"Don't tell anyone you saw me.
 I'll run as long as I can.
You were good to me, and I love you,
 But I'm a doomed man."

Going out, he met a mulata
 Carrying water on her head.
"If you say you saw me, daughter,
 You're as good as dead."

There are caves up there, and hideouts,
 And an old fort, falling down.
They used to watch for Frenchmen
 From the hill of Babylon.

Below him was the ocean.
 It reached far up the sky,
Flat as a wall, and on it
 Were freighters passing by,

Or climbing the wall, and climbing
 Till each looked like a fly,
And then fell over and vanished;
 And he knew he was going to die.

He could hear the goats baa-baa-ing.
 He could hear the babies cry;
Fluttering kites strained upward;
 And he knew he was going to die.

A buzzard flapped so near him
 He could see its naked neck.
He waved his arms and shouted,
 "Not yet, my son, not yet!"

An Army helicopter
 Came nosing around and in.
He could see two men inside it,
 but they never spotted him.

The soldiers were all over,
 On all sides of the hill,
And right against the skyline
 A row of them, small and still.

Children peeked out of windows,
 And men in the drink shop swore,
And spat a little cachaça
 At the light cracks in the floor.

But the soldiers were nervous, even
 with tommy guns in hand,
And one of them, in a panic,
 Shot the officer in command.

He hit him in three places;
 The other shots went wild.
The soldier had hysterics
 And sobbed like a little child.

The dying man said, "Finish
 The job we came here for."
he committed his soul to God
 And his sons to the Governor.

They ran and got a priest,
 And he died in hope of Heaven
--A man from Pernambuco,
 The youngest of eleven.

They wanted to stop the search,
 but the Army said, "No, go on,"
So the soldiers swarmed again
 Up the hill of Babylon.

Rich people in apartments
 Watched through binoculars
As long as the daylight lasted.
 And all night, under the stars,

Micuçú hid in the grasses
 Or sat in a little tree,
Listening for sounds, and staring
 At the lighthouse out at sea.

And the lighthouse stared back at him,
 til finally it was dawn.
He was soaked with dew, and hungry,
 On the hill of Babylon.

The yellow sun was ugly,
 Like a raw egg on a plate--
Slick from the sea. He cursed it,
 For he knew it sealed his fate.

He saw the long white beaches
 And people going to swim,
With towels and beach umbrellas,
 But the soldiers were after him.

Far, far below, the people
 Were little colored spots,
And the heads of those in swimming
 Were floating coconuts.

He heard the peanut vendor
 Go peep-peep on his whistle,
And the man that sells umbrellas
 Swinging his watchman's rattle.

Women with market baskets
 Stood on the corners and talked,
Then went on their way to market,
 Gazing up as they walked.

The rich with their binoculars
 Were back again, and many
Were standing on the rooftops,
 Among TV antennae.

It was early, eight or eight-thirty.
 He saw a soldier climb,
Looking right at him. He fired,
 And missed for the last time.

He could hear the soldier panting,
 Though he never got very near.
Micuçú dashed for shelter.
 But he got it, behind the ear.

He heard the babies crying
 Far, far away in his he