#Americans #Modernism #XXCentury
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
When over the flowery, sharp pastu… edge, unseen, the salt ocean lifts its form—chicory and daisies tied, released, seem hardly flower… but color and the movement—or the…
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
It is a satisfaction a joy to have one of those in the house. when she takes a bath
contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
