#AmericanWriters
We’d rather have the iceberg than… although it meant the end of trave… Although it stood stock—still like… and all the sea were moving marble… We’d rather have the iceberg than…
Land lies in water; it is shadowed… Shadows, or are they shallows, at… showing the line of long sea-weede… where weeds hang to the simple blu… Or does the land lean down to lift…
Each day with so much ceremony begins, with birds, with bells, with whistles from a factory; such white—gold skies our eyes first open on, such brilliant wall…
The tumult in the heart keeps asking questions. And then it stops and undertakes t… in the same tone of voice. No one could tell the difference.
The art of losing isn’t hard to ma… so many things seem filled with th… to be lost that their loss is no d… Lose something every day. Accept… of lost door keys, the hour badly…
On the unbreathing sides of hills they play, a specklike girl and bo… alone, but near a specklike house. The Sun’s suspended eye blinks casually, and then they wad…
About the size of an old—style dol… American or Canadian, mostly the same whites, gray green… —this little painting (a sketch fo… has never earned any money in its…
The state with the prettiest name, the state that floats in brackish… held together by mangrave roots that bear while living oysters in… and when dead strew white swamps w…
In Worcester, Massachusetts, I went with Aunt Consuelo to keep her dentist’s appointment and sat and waited for her in the dentist’s waiting room.
Here, above, cracks in the buildings are filled… The whole shadow of Man is only a… It lies at his feet like a circle… and he makes an inverted pin, the…
I am in need of music that would f… Over my fretful, feeling finger—ti… Over my bitter—tainted, trembling… With melody, deep, clear, and liqu… Oh, for the healing swaying, old a…
The roaring alongside he takes for… and that every so often the world… He runs, he runs to the south, fin… in a state of controlled panic, a… The beach hisses like fat. On his…
Now can you see the monument? It… built somewhat like a box. No. Bu… like several boxes in descending s… one above the other. Each is turned half—way round so t…
From narrow provinces of fish and bread and tea, home of the long tides where the bay leaves the sea twice a day and takes
I am in need of music that would f… Over my fretful, feeling fingertip… Over my bitter—tainted, trembling… With melody, deep, clear, and liqu… Oh, for the healing swaying, old a…
