#AmericanWriters
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
Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees
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.
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…
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…
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
I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
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.
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
Take it out in vile whisky, take i… in lifting your skirts to show you… crotches; it is this that is inten… You are it. Your pleas will alway… You too will always go up with the…
The birches are mad with green poi… the wood’s edge is burning with th… burning, seething—No, no, no. The birches are opening their leav… by one. Their delicate leaves unfo…
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang