#AmericanWriters
He tells me in Bangkok he’s robbe… Because he’s white; in London bec… In Barcelona, Jew; in Paris, Ara… Everywhere and at all times, and h… He holds up seven thick little fin…
Brooklyn, 1929. Of course Crane’s been drinking and has no idea who this curious Andalusian is, unable even to speak the language of poet… The young man who brought them
Unknown faces in the street And winter coming on. I Stand in the last moments of The city, no more a child, Only a man, —one who has
Words go on travelling from voice to voice while the phones are stil… and the wires hum in the cold. Now and then dark winter birds settle slowly on the crossbars, where hud…
Hungry and cold, I stood in a doo… on Delancey Street in 1946 as the rain came down. The worst p… is not from a bad movie. I’d read… USA and thought, “Before the nig…
One was kicked in the stomach until he vomited, then made to put back into his mouth what they had brought forth; when he tried to dr…
We stand in the rain in a long lin… waiting at Ford Highland Park. F… You know what work is—if you’re old enough to read this you know w… work is, although you may not do i…
In the early morning before the sh… opens, men standing out in the yar… on pine planks over the umber mud. The oil drum, squat, brooding, bri… with metal scraps, three-armed cro…
My father stands in the warm eveni… on the porch of my first house. I am four years old and growing ti… I see his head among the stars, the glow of his cigarette, redder
Some days I catch a rhythm, almos… in my own breath. I’m alone here in Brooklyn Heights, late morning… above the St. George Hotel clear,… for New York, that is. The radio…
The magpie in the Joshua tree Has come to rest. Darkness collec… And what I cannot hear or see, Broken limbs, the curious bird, Become in darkness darkness too.
First light. This misted field is the world, that man slipping the greased bolt back and forth, that man tunneled with blood
Take this quiet woman, she has bee… standing before a polishing wheel for over three hours, and she lack… twenty minutes before she can take a lunch break. Is she a woman?
Is it long as a noodle or fat as an egg? Is it lumpy like a potato or ringed like an oak or an onion and like the onion
He fears the tiger standing in his… The tiger takes its time, it smile… Like moons, the two blank eyes tug… “God help me now,” is all that he… “God help me now, how close I’ve…