#Americans #Modernism #XXCentury
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
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,
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...
ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…
Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among
You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!
