#Americans #Modernism
You Communists and Republicans! all you Germans and Frenchmen! you corpses and quickeners! The stars are about to melt and fall on you in tears.
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
It is a satisfaction a joy to have one of those in the house. when she takes a bath
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.
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
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...
This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
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 worthy...
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,
These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
