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Wallace Stevens

Wallace Stevens

Fabliau of Florida

Barque of phosphor
On the palmy beach,
 
Move outward into heaven,
Into the alabasters
And night blues.
 
Foam and cloud are one.
Sultry moon-monsters
Are dissolving.
 
Fill your black hull
With white moonlight.
 
There will never be an end
To this droning of the surf.

#Americans Modern

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Altre opere di Wallace Stevens...
Continual Conversation With a Silent Man

The old brown hen and the old blue… Between the two we live and die— The broken cartwheel on the hill. As if, in the presence of the sea, We dried our nets and mended sail
 1
Farewell to Florida

Go on, high ship, since now, upon… The snake has left its skin upon t… Key West sank downward under mass… And silvers and greens spread over… Is at the mast-head and the past i…
A Postcard From the Volcano

Children picking up our bones Will never know that these were on… As quick as foxes on the hill; And that in autumn, when the grape… Made sharp air sharper by their sm…
So-And-So Reclining on Her Couch

On her side, reclining on her elbo… This mechanism, this apparition, Suppose we call it Projection A. She floats in air at the level of The eye, completely anonymous,
What is Divinity

What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in drea… Shall she not find in comforts of… In pungent fruit and bright, green… In any balm or beauty of the earth…
Earthy Anecdote

Every time the bucks went clatteri… Over Oklahoma A firecat bristled in the way. Wherever they went, They went clattering,
Poetry Is a Destructive Force

That’s what misery is, Nothing to have at heart. It is to have or nothing. It is a thing to have, A lion, an ox in his breast,
 1
Bantams in Pine-Woods

Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caf… Of tan with henna hackles, halt! Damned universal cock, as if the s… Was blackamoor to bear your blazin… Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the per…
The Planet on the Table

Ariel was glad he had written his… They were of a remembered time Or of something seen that he liked… Other makings of the sun Were waste and welter
To the Roaring Wind

What syllable are you seeking, Vocalissimus, In the distances of sleep? Speak it.
Sunday Morning

Complacencies of the peignoir, and… Coffee and oranges in a sunny chai… And the green freedom of a cockato… Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice…
Not Ideas About the Thing But the Thing Itself

At the earliest ending of winter, In March, a scrawny cry from outs… Seemed like a sound in his mind. He knew that he heard it, A bird’s cry at daylight or before…
Anecdote of the Jar

I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill. The wilderness rose up to it,
The River of Rivers in Connecticut

There is a great river this side o… Before one comes to the first blac… And trees that lack the intelligen… In that river, far this side of S… The mere flowing of the water is a…
Man Carrying Thing

The poem must resist the intellige… Almost successfully. Illustration… A brune figure in winter evening r… Identity. The thing he carries re… The most necessitous sense. Accep…



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