#Americans #Modernism #XXCentury
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.
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The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
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...
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was