(1923)
#AmericanWriters
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
Why go further? One might conceivably rectify the rhythm, study all out and arrive at the perfection of a tiger lily or a china doorknob. One might lift all out of the ruck, be a w...
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
NOW that I have cooled to you Let there be gold of tarnished mas… Temples soothed by the sun to ruin That sleep utterly. Give me hand for the dances,
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire