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Wallace Stevens

The poem refreshes life so that we share, For a moment, the first idea … It satisfies Belief in an immaculate beginning And sends us, winged by an unconscious will, To an immaculate end. We move between these points: From that ever-early candor to its late plural And the candor of them is the strong… Continue reading Wallace Stevens

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Wallace Stevens

You can compose poetry in whatever form you like. If it seems a seventeenth-centruy habit to begin lines with capital letters, you can go in for the liquid transitions of greater simplicity; and so on. It is not that nobody cares. It matters immensely. The slightest sound matters. The most momentary rhythm matters. You can… Continue reading Wallace Stevens

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

Wallace Stevens

After the leaves have fallen, we return To a plain sense of things. It is as if We had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir. – Wallace Stevens, from “The Plain Sense of Things,” The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens. (Vintage; Reissue edition, February 19, 1990)

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Correspondence · Diary · Epistolary · Excerpt · Journal · Modernism · Passage · Poetics · Quote · Writing

Wallace Stevens

Diaries are very futile. I must be all dream or all deed. It is quite impossible for me to express any of the beauty I feel to half the degree I feel it; and yet it is a great pleasure to seize an impression and lock it up in words: you feel as if you… Continue reading Wallace Stevens

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

Wallace Stevens

Peter Quince at the Clavier                                           I Just as my fingers on these keys Make music, so the selfsame sounds On my spirit make a music, too. Music is feeling, then, not sound; And thus it is that what I feel, Here in this room, desiring you, Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk, Is music. It… Continue reading Wallace Stevens

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Modernism · Passage · Poetry

Wallace Stevens

                           It was her voice that made    The sky acutest at its vanishing.    She measured to the hour its solitude.    She was the single artificer of the world In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,    Whatever self it had, became the self That was her song, for she… Continue reading Wallace Stevens

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