#AmericanWriters
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
Fools have big wombs. For the rest?'here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter...
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.
Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...
THERE is a bird in the poplars— It is the sun! The leaves are little yellow fish Swimming in the river; The bird skims above them—
I’ve fond anticipation of a day O’erfilled with pure diversion pre… For I must read a lady poesy The while we glide by many a leafy… Hid deep in rushes, where at rando…
Why go further? One might conceivably rectify the rhythm, study all out and arrive at the perfection of a tiger lily or a china doorknob. One might lift all out of the ruck, be a w...
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,