American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Modernism · Poetry

Wallace Stevens

The House Was Quiet and The World Was Calm The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book; and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book. The house was quiet and the world was calm. The words were spoken as if there was no book, Except that… Continue reading Wallace Stevens

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Samuel Becket

Weary with my weariness, white last moon, sole regret, not even. To be dead, before her, on her, with her, and turn, dead on dead, about poor mankind, and never have to die anymore, from among the living. Not even, not even that. My moon was here below, far below, the little I was able… Continue reading Samuel Becket

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Excerpt · Modernism · Passage · Poetics · Quote

Wallace Stevens

I think then that the first thing that a poet should do as he comes out of his cavern is to put on the strength of his particular calling as a poet, to address himself to what Rilke called the mighty burden of poetry and to have the courage to say that, in his sense… Continue reading Wallace Stevens

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Avant-garde · Classic · Excerpt · Fiction · Irish Culture · Irish Literature · Modernism · Novel · Passage · Theatre of the Absurd · Trilogy

Samuel Beckett

I’m all these words, all these strangers, this dust of words, with no ground for their settling, no sky for their dispersing, coming together to say, fleeing one another to say, that I am they, all of them, those that merge, those that part, those that never meet, and nothing else, yes, something else, that… Continue reading Samuel Beckett

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Excerpt · Fragment · Modernism · Passage · Poetry

Wallace Stevens

He was a shell of dark blue glass, or ice, Or air collected in a deep essay, Or light embodied, or almost, a flash On more than muscular shoulders, arms and chest, Blue’s last transparence as it turned to black. — Wallace Stevens, from “Chicorua to Its Neighbor,” The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens (Vintage,… Continue reading Wallace Stevens

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