#AmericanWriters
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…
This quiet morning light reflected, how many times from grass and tress and clouds enters my north room touching the walls with
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last