Portrait of the Author The birches are mad with green pointsthe wood’s edge is burning with their green,burning, seething—No, no, no.The birches are opening their leaves oneby one. Their delicate leaves unfold coldand separate, one by one. Slender tasselshang swaying from the delicate branch tips—Oh, I cannot say it. There is no word.Black is split… Continue reading William Carlos Williams
We sit and talk,quietly, with long lapses of silenceand I am aware of the streamthat has no language, coursingbeneath the quiet heaven ofyour eyeswhich has no speech ― William Carlos Williams, Paterson. (New Directions; Revised Edition edition April 17, 1995) Originally published 1946.
SO different, this manAnd this woman:A stream flowingIn a field. — William Carlos Williams, from “Marriage,” The Collected Poems, Vol. 1: 1909-1939. ( New Directions; Reprint edition September 17, 1991)
we sit and talkI wish to be with you abed, we twoas if the bed were the bed of a stream—I have much to say to you We sit and talk,quietly, with long lapses of silenceand I am aware of the streamthat has no language, coursingbeneath the quiet heaven ofyour eyes which has no speech;… Continue reading William Carlos Williams
Her body is not so white asanemone petals nor so smooth–norso remote a thing. It is a fieldof the wild carrot takingthefield by force; the grassdoes not raise above it.Here is no question of whiteness,white as can be, with a purple moleat the center of each flower.Each flower is a hand’s spanof her whiteness. Whereverhis… Continue reading William Carlos Williams
Let the snake wait underhis weedand the writingbe of words, slow and quick, sharpto strike, quiet to wait,sleepless. – through metaphor to reconcilethe people and the stones.Compose. (No ideasbut in things) Invent!Saxifrage is my flower that splitsthe rocks. — William Carlos Williams, “A Sort of Song,” The Wedge. (The Cummington Press 1944)
And yet one arrives somehow,finds himself loosening the hooks ofher dressin a strange bedroom —feels the autumndropping its silk and linen leavesabout her ankles.The tawdry veined body emergestwisted upon itselflike a winter wind…! — William Carlos Williams, “Arrival,” Sour Grapes (1921)
I am lonely, lonely.I was born to be lonely,I am best so! — William Carlos Williams, from “Danse Russe,” The Collected Poems of William Carlos Williams, Volume I, 1909-1939, edited by Christopher MacGowan.
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens. — William Carlos Williams, “The Red Wheelbarrow,” Spring and All. First published in 1923 by Robert McAlmon’s Contact Publishing Co. The poem itself was originally published without a title and was designated as “XXII” as the twenty-second work in… Continue reading William Carlos Williams
SO different, this man And this woman: A stream flowing In a field. — William Carlos Williams, from “Marriage,” The Collected Poems, Vol. 1: 1909-1939. (• Publisher: New Directions; Reprint edition September 17, 1991)
The Vale of Soul-Making 