Poeticous Logo
it
English Español Français Italiano
James Wright

James Wright

Trying to Pray

This time, I have left my body behind me, crying
In its dark thorns.
Still,
There are good things in this world.
It is dusk.
It is the good darkness
Of women’s hands that touch loaves.
The spirit of a tree begins to move.
I touch leaves.
I close my eyes and think of water.

#Americans

Ti è piaciuta questa lettura? Offriteci un caffè!.
Il tuo aiuto ci permette di esistere.
Altre opere di James Wright...
The Minneapolis Poem

to John Logan I wonder how many old men last win… Hungry and frightened by namelessn… The Mississippi shore Lashed blind by the wind, dreaming
The Last Pieta, in Florence

The whole city Is stone, even Where stone Doesn’t belong. What is that old
To a Blossoming Pear Tree

Beautiful natural blossoms, Pure delicate body, You stand without trembling. Little mist of fallen starlight, Perfect, beyond my reach,
Outside Fargo, North Dakota

Along the sprawled body of the der… I strike a match slowly and lift i… No wind. Beyond town, three heavy white hor… Wade all the way to their shoulder…
Rip

It can’t be the passing of time th… That white shadow across the water… Just offshore. I shiver a little, with the evenin… I turn down the steep path to find
Sappho

The twilight falls; I soften the… And clean again. The house has lain and moldered fo… The windows smeared with rain, the… The mice come in,
A Blessing

Just off the highway to Rochester… Twilight bounds softly forth on th… And the eyes of those two Indian… Darken with kindness. They have come gladly out of the w…
A Poem About George Doty in the Death House

Lured by the wall, and drawn To stare below the roof, Where pigeons nest aloof From prowling cats and men, I count the sash and bar
At the Executed Murderer’s Grave

Why should we do this? What good… how can we do such a thing? How ca… —Freud My name is James A. Wright, and… Twenty-five miles from this infect…
Having Lost my Sons, I Confront the Wreckage of the Moon: Christmas, 1960

After dark Near the South Dakota border, The moon is out hunting, everywher… Delivering fire, And walking down hallways
Youth

Strange bird, His song remains secret. He worked too hard to read books. He never heard how Sherwood Ander… Got out of it, and fled to Chicag…
As I Step Over a Puddle at the End of Winter, I Think of an Ancient Chinese Governor

And how can I, born in evil days And fresh from failure, ask a kind… —Written A.D. 819 Po Chu-i, balding old politician, What’s the use?
The Ice House

The house was really a cellar deep… Belmont Brewery. My father’s big… from the outside, and from within… leaned and helped. The slow door g… in delighted by our fear, and laid…
Goodbye to the Poetry of Calcium

Dark cypresses— The world is uneasily happy; It will all be forgotten. —Theodore Storm Mother of roots, you have not seed…
Beginning

The moon drops one or two feathers… The dark wheat listens. Be still. Now. There they are, the moon’s young,…



Alto