Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

I can scarcely imagine it happened –
where it would be – the places of it.
Quiet places I visit now – torn up grass,
headed-off mist, depositions
of rose, vine, earth. Aragon all night
a cruel river you need to cross.
Here, and here, they say leading you
from the square, the church steps.
Here, by these houses, and on this hill
of fervent olive trees – yes, this very.