(1923)
#AmericanWriters #Modernism
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a ligh… to peer from: I will have my way, yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smal…
If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the
When the snow falls the flakes spi… that concerns them most intimately two and two to make a dance the mind dances with itself, taking you by the hand,
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
I have had my dream—like others— and it has come to nothing, so tha… I remain now carelessly with feet planted on the ground and look up at the sky—
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...
You know there is not much that I desire, a few chrysanthemum… half lying on the grass, yellow and brown and white, the talk of a few people, the trees,
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
