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Wallace Stevens

Wallace Stevens

Gray Room

Although you sit in a room that is gray,
Except for the silver
Of the straw-paper,
And pick
At your pale white gown;
Or lift one of the green beads
Of your necklace,
To let it fall;
Or gaze at your green fan
Printed with the red branches of a red willow;
Or, with one finger,
Move the leaf in the bowl—
The leaf that has fallen from the branches of the forsythia
Beside you...
What is all this?
I know how furiously your heart is beating.

#Americans Modern

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Poetry Is a Destructive Force

That’s what misery is, Nothing to have at heart. It is to have or nothing. It is a thing to have, A lion, an ox in his breast,
 1
Lulu Gay

Lulu sang of barbarians before the… Of gobs, who called her orchidean, Sniffed her and slapped heavy hand… Upon her. She made the eunuchs ululate.
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To the One of Fictive Music

Sister and mother and diviner love… And of the sisterhood of the livin… Most near, most clear, and of the… And of the fragrant mothers the mo… And queen, and of diviner love the…
Continual Conversation With a Silent Man

The old brown hen and the old blue… Between the two we live and die— The broken cartwheel on the hill. As if, in the presence of the sea, We dried our nets and mended sail
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The Poem That Took the Place of a Mountain

There it was, word for word, The poem that took the place of a… He breathed its oxygen, Even when the book lay turned in t… It reminded him how he had needed
Tattoo

The light is like a spider. It crawls over the water. It crawls over the edges of the sn… It crawls under your eyelids And spreads its webs there—
Romance for a Demoiselle Lying in the Grass

It is grass. It is monotonous. The monotony Is like your port which conceals All your characters
So-And-So Reclining on Her Couch

On her side, reclining on her elbo… This mechanism, this apparition, Suppose we call it Projection A. She floats in air at the level of The eye, completely anonymous,
It Must Give Pleasure

To sing jubilas at exact, accustom… To be crested and wear the mane of… And so, as part, to exult with its… To speak of joy and to sing of it,… The shoulders of joyous men, to fe…
Lunar Paraphrase

he moon is the mother of pathos an… When, at the wearier end of Novem… Her old light moves along the bran… Feebly, slowly, depending upon the… When the body of Jesus hangs in a…
What is Divinity

What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in drea… Shall she not find in comforts of… In pungent fruit and bright, green… In any balm or beauty of the earth…
To the Roaring Wind

What syllable are you seeking, Vocalissimus, In the distances of sleep? Speak it.
Song

There are great things doing In the world, Little rabbit. There is a damsel, Sweeter than the sound of the will…
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Study of Two Pears

Opusculum paedagogum. The pears are not viols, Nudes or bottles. They resemble nothing else. II
The Shape of the Coroner

It was the morn And the palms were waved And the brass was played Then the coroner came In his limpid shoes.



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