#AmericanWriters
This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...
Here it is spring again and I still a young man! I am late at my singing. The sparrow with the black rain on… has been at his cadenzas for two w…
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
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…
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
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of