Poeticous Logo
fr
English Español Français Italiano
William Carlos Williams

William Carlos Williams

Apology

Why do I write today?
 
The beauty of
the terrible faces
of our nonentites
stirs me to it:
 
colored women
day workers—
old and experienced—
returning home at dusk
in cast off clothing
faces like
old Florentine oak.
 
Also
 
the set pieces
of your faces stir me—
leading citizens—
but not
in the same way.

#Americans #Modernism

Vous avez aimé cette lecture ? Offrez-nous un café !.
Votre aide nous permet d'exister.
Autres oeuvres par William Carlos Williams...
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, by Shepard Fairey
“Libertad! Igualdad! Fraternidad!”

You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
 1
Winter Trees

All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among
Heel & Toe to the End

Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
The Wanderer

Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
 1
Haymaking

The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
Heel & Toe to the End

Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
January Morning

I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken
The Nightingales

My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
The Sea-Elephant

Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
Young Woman at a Window (version 1)

While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
Primrose

Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow
A man dancing with a dog, by Unknown artist
Danse Russe

If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
 3
Transitional

First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.
Complaint

They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
Romance Moderne

Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whos… flickering mountain—bulging nearer… ebbing back into the sun hollowing itself away to hold a la…



Haut