#AmericanWriters
ON the street Slung on his shoulder is a handle… Tied in a big knot on the scoop of… Are the overalls faded from sun an… Spatter of dry clay sticking yello…
There are no handles upon a langua… Whereby men take hold of it And mark it with signs for its rem… It is a river, this language, Once in a thousand years
In the loam we sleep, In the cool moist loam, To the lull of years that pass And the break of stars, From the loam, then,
DAYS of the dead men, Danny. Drum for the dead, drum on your remembering heart. Jaurès, a great love-heart of Fra… a slug of lead in the red valves.
Have I broken the smaller taberna… And in the destruction of these se… I know nothing today, what I have… They were beautiful in a way, thes… They were beautiful—why did the hy…
THEY are crying salt tears Over the beautiful beloved body Of Inez Milholland, Because they are glad she lived, Because she loved open-armed,
I KNOW a Jew fish crier down on… voice like a north wind blowing ov… in January. He dangles herring before prospect… a joy identical with that of Pavlo…
Child of the Aztec gods, how long must we listen here, how long before we go? The dust is deep on the lintels. The dust is dark on the doors.
AMONG the mountains I wandered… red crag and was amazed; On the beach where the long push u… maneuvers, I stood silent; Under the stars on the prairie wat…
Gather the stars if you wish it so… Gather the songs and keep them. Gather the faces of women. Gather for keeping years and years… And then . . .
HAVE me in the blue and the sun. Have me on the open sea and the mo… When I go into the grass of the s… This is where I came from—the chl… It is here the nostrils rush the a…
It’s a jazz affair, drum crashes a… The trombone pony neighs and the t… The banjo tickles and titters too… The chippies talk about the funnie… The cartoonists weep in their beer…
THERE are places I go when I am… One is a marsh pool where I used… with a long-ear hound-dog. One is a wild crabapple tree; I w… a moonlight night with a girl.
I WANTED a man’s face looking i… of life With something proud on his face,… of the jaws, No gulp of the throat leaves the f…
IN Abraham Lincoln’s city, Where they remember his lawyer’s s… The place where they brought him Wrapped in battle flags, Wrapped in the smoke of memories