#Americans #PulitzerPrice #XIXCentury #XXCentury
(We can succeed only by concert. . . . The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion....
I SANG to you and the moon But only the moon remembers. I sang O reckless free-hearted free-throated rythms,
THE bronze General Grant riding… Park Shrivels in the sun by day when th… by in long processions going somew… for dinner and matinees and buying…
THREE walls around the town of… They expected everything of those… Nobody in the town came out to kis… I knocked the walls down, killed t… Took away cattle and sheep, took a…
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.
I was born in the morning of the w… So I know how morning looks morning in the valley wanting, morning on a mountain wanting. Morning looks like people look,
WHY should I be wondering How you would look in black velvet… I who cannot remember whether it w… Or a whirr of red under your willo… Why do I wonder how you would loo…
telling where the wind comes from open a story. Pencils telling where the wind goes end a story.
JIMMY WIMBLETON listened a… Ditches along prairie roads of No… Filled the arch of night with youn… Infinite mathematical metronomic c… Rose and sang, rose in a choir of…
BY day the skyscraper looms in th… has a soul. Prairie and valley, streets of the… it and they mingle among its twent… poured out again back to the stree…
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…
THIS handful of grass, brown, says little. This quarter mile field of it, waving seeds ripening in the sun, is a lake of luminous firefly lavender. Prairie roses, two of them, climb dow...
I LOVE him, I love him, ran the… And she formed his name on her ton… And she sent him word she loved hi… So much, and death was nothing; wo… All was nothing if her love for hi…
The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin in her teeth and takes her time and does her hair the way she want… and fastens at last the last braid…
BOTH were jailbirds; no speechma… And both were lights snuffed out..… Who knew the hearts of these booze…