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William Carlos Williams

William Carlos Williams

The Poor

By constantly tormenting them
with reminders of the lice in
their children’s hair, the
School Physician first
brought their hatred down on him.
But by this familiarity
they grew used to him, and so,
at last,
took him for their friend and adviser.

#Americans #Modernism

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It Is a Living Coral

a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
Winter Trees

All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among
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WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
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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,
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They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
The Shadow

SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.
The Dance

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,
Flowers by the Sea

When over the flowery, sharp pastu… edge, unseen, the salt ocean lifts its form—chicory and daisies tied, released, seem hardly flower… but color and the movement—or the…
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It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,
Between Walls

the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
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Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…
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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...
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Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
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Winter is long in this climate and spring—a matter of a few days only,—a flower or two picked from mud or from among wet leaves or at best against treacherous



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