VIEWS: 23 PAGES: 7 POSTED ON: 4/18/2010
WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS (LT203 - OWEN ROBINSON) Spring and All: Poem XXI (The Red Wheelbarrow) (1923) so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens In a Station of the Metro (1916) The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Petals on a wet, black bough. by Ezra Pound Lines from part 42 of Walt Whitman’s ‘Song of Myself’ (1855) This printed and bound book….but the printer and the printing-office boy? …. The saints and sages in history….but you yourself? Sermons and creeds and theology….but the human brain, and what is called reason, and what is called love, and what is called life? Young Sycamore (1927) This Is Just To Say (1934) I must tell you dividing and waning I have eaten this young tree sending out the plums whose round and firm trunk young branches on that were in between the wet all sides – the icebox pavement and the gutter hung with cocoons – and which (where water it thins you were probably is trickling) rises till nothing is left of it saving bodily but two for breakfast into the air with eccentric knotted Forgive me one undulant twigs they were delicious thrust half its height – bending forward so sweet and then hornlike at the top and so cold Chicory and Daisies (1917) The Term (1937) I II A rumpled sheet of brown paper Lift your flowers I saw a child with daisies about the length on bitter stems for weaving into the hair chicory! tear the stems and apparent bulk Lift them up with her teeth! of a man was out of the scorched ground! rolling with the Bear no foliage but give yourself wind slowly over wholly to that! and over in Strain under them the street as you bitter stems that no beast eats – a car drove down and scorn greyness! upon it and Into the heat with them: crushed it to cool! luxuriant! sky-blue! the ground. Unlike The earth cracks and a man it rose is shrivelled up; again rolling the wind moans piteously; the sky goes out with the wind over if you should fail and over to be as it was before. Spring and All: Poem I (Spring and All) (1923) By the road to the contagious hospital Now the grass, tomorrow under the surge of the blue the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf mottled clouds driven from the northeast – a cold wind. Beyond, the One by one objects are defined – waste of broad, muddy fields It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen But now the stark dignity of patches of standing water entrance – Still, the profound change the scattering of tall trees has come upon them: rooted, they grip down and begin to awaken All along the road the reddish purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy stuff of bushes and small trees with dead, brown leaves under them leafless vines – Lifeless in appearance, sluggish dazed spring approaches – They enter the new world naked, cold, uncertain of all save that they enter. All about them the cold, familiar wind – Portrait of a Woman in Bed (1917) There’s my things There’s brains and blood Try to help me drying in the corner: in there – if you want trouble that blue skirt my name’s Robitza! or leave me alone – joined to the grey shirt – Corsets that ends trouble. can go to the devil – I’m sick of trouble! and drawers along with them – The county physician Lift the covers What do I care! is a damned fool if you want me and you and you’ll see My two boys? can go to hell! the rest of my clothes – – they’re keen! though it would be cold Let the rich lady You could have closed the door lying with nothing on! care for them – when you came in; they’ll beat the school do it when you go out. I won’t work or I’m tired. and I’ve got no cash. let them go to the gutter – What are you going to do that ends trouble. about it? – and no jewelry This house is empty (the crazy fools) isn’t it? Then it’s mine But I’ve my two eyes because I need it. and a smooth face Oh, I won’t starve and here’s this! look! while there’s the Bible it’s high! to make them feed me. The Widow’s Lament in Springtime (1921) Sorrow is my own yard to go there where the new grass and fall into those flowers flames as it has flamed and sink into the marsh near often before but not them. with the cold fire that closes round me this year. Thirtyfive years I lived with my husband. The plumtree is white today with masses of flowers. Masses of flowers load the cherry branches and color some bushes yellow and some red but the grief in my heart is stronger than they for though they were my joy formally, today I notice them and turn away forgetting. Today my son told me that in the meadows, at the edge of the heavy woods in the distance, he saw trees of white flowers. I feel that I would like From ‘To a Dog Injured in the Street (1954) From ‘Asphodel, That Greeny Flower’ (1955) The cries of a dying dog Asphodel are to be blotted out has no odor as best I can save to the imagination René Char but it too you are a poet who believes celebrates the light. in the power of beauty It is late to right all wrongs. but an odor I believe it also. as from our wedding With invention and courage has revived for me we shall surpass and begun to penetrate the pitiful dumb beasts, into all the crevices let all men believe it, of my world. as you have taught me also to believe it.
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