William Carlos Williams

“ Granite over flesh: who will deny
its advantages?
Your death?—water
spilled upon the ground—
though water will mount again into rose-leaves—
but you?—would hold life still,
even as a memory, when it is over.
Benevolence is rare. ”

“ Sagging breasts and protruding stomachs,
Rasping voices, filthy habits with the hands.
“Nowhere you! Everywhere the electric!
“Ugly, venemous, gigantic!
Tossing me as a great father his helpless
Infant till it shriek with ecstasy
And its eyes roll and its tongue hangs out!—
“I am at peace again, old queen, I listen clearer
⁠now.” ”

“ Rather notice, mon cher,
that the moon is
tilted above
the point of the steeple
than that its color
is shell-pink.
Rather observe
that it is early morning
than that the sky
is smooth
as a turquoise. ”

“ That harvest
that shall be your advent—
thrusting up through the grass,
up under the weeds
answering me,
that shall be satisfying!
The light shall leap and snap
that day as with a million lashes! ”

“ Bent as you are from straining
against the bitter horizontals of
a north wind,—there below you
how easily the long yellow notes
of poplars flow upward in a descending
scale, each note secure in its own
posture—singularly woven.
All voices are blent willingly
against the heaving contra-bass
of the dark but you alone
warp yourself passionately to one side
in your eagerness. ”

“ After the youth of all cities, drunk
With the sight of thy archness! All the youth
That come to you, you having the knowledge
Rather than to those uninitiate—
To you, marvelous old queen, give me always
A new marriage—”
⁠But she laughed loudly—
“A new grip upon those garments that brushed me
In days gone by on beach, lawn, and in forest! ”

“ Long yellow rushes bending
above the white snow patches;
purple and gold ribbon
of the distant wood:
⁠what an angle
you make with each other as
you lie there in contemplation.
⁠XIII.
Work hard all your young days
and they'll find you too, some morning
staring up under
your chiffonier at its warped
bass-wood bottom and your soul—
out! ”

“ A PORTRAIT IN GREYS
Will it never be possible
to separate you from your greyness?
Must you be always sinking backward
into your grey-brown landscapes—and
⁠trees
always in the distance, always against
a grey sky? ”

“ First it will be
a quiet pace
to ease our stiffness
but as the west yellows
you will be ready!
Here in the middle
of the roadway
we will fling
ourselves round
with dust lilies
till we are bound in
their twining stems! ”

“ Sticks through! Pulls the whole
counter-pulling mass upward, to the
⁠right,
locks even the opaque, not yet defined
ground in a terrific drag that is
loosening the very tap-roots!
On a tissue-thin monotone of blue-grey
⁠buds
two blue-grey birds, chasing a third,
at full cry! Now they are
flung outward and up—disappearing suddenly! ”

“ With the old queen right past the houses
Of my friends down the hill to the river
As on any usual day, any errand.
Alone, walking under trees,
I went with her, she with me in her wild hair,
By Santiago Grove and presently
She bent forward and knelt by the river,
The Passaic, that filthy river.
And there dabbling her mad hands,
She called me close beside her.
Raising the water then in the cupped palm
She bathed our brows wailing and laughing:
“River, we are old, you and I,
We are old and by bad luck, beggars.
Lo, the filth in our hair, our bodies stink! ”

“ Can you not be decent? Can you not reserve your ardors
for something less unlovely? What girl will care
for us, do you think, if we continue in these ways?
Must you taste everything? Must you know everything? ”

“ This is all beyond you—no doubt,
yet you do feel the brushings
of the fine needles;
the tentative lines of your whole body
prove it to me;
so does your fear of me,
your shyness;
likewise the toy baby cart
that you are pushing—
and besides, mother has begun
to dress your hair in a knot. ”

“ TRACT
I will teach you my townspeople
how to perform a funeral—
for you have it over a troop
of artists—
unless one should scour the world—
you have the ground sense necessary.
See! the hearse leads. ”

“ To the left, half a tree:
⁠—what a blessing it is
to see you in the street again,
powerful woman,
coming with swinging haunches,
breasts straight forward,
supple shoulders, full arms
and strong, soft hands (I've felt them)
carrying the heavy basket. ”

“ First I say this: you have seen
the strange birds, have you not, that
⁠sometimes
rest upon our river in winter?
Let them cause you to think well then
⁠of the storms
that drive many to shelter. These things
do not happen without reason. ”

“ I am an American.
Let us wonder, my townspeople,
if Artsybashev tends his own fires
as I do, gets himself cursed
for the baby's failure to thrive,
loosens windows for the woman
who cleans his parlor—
or has he neat servants ”

“ Corsets
can go to the devil—
and drawers along with them!
What do I care!
My two boys?
—they're keen!
Let the rich lady
care for them—
they'll beat the school
or
let them go to the gutter—
that ends trouble. ”

“ Come, we'll walk down the road
till the bacon will be frying.
We might better be idle?
A poem might come of it?
Oh, be useful. Save annoyance
to Flossie and besides—the wind!
It's cold. It blows our
old pants out! It makes us shiver! ”

“ On the grooved drain-board
to one side is
a glass filled with parsley—
crisped green.
⁠Waiting
for the water to freshen—
I glance at the spotless floor—:
a pair of rubber sandals
lie side by side
under the wall-table,
all is in order for the night. ”

“ Come! here are—
cross-eyed men, a boy
with a patch, men walking
in their shirts, men in hats
dark men, a pale man
with little black moustaches
and a dirty white coat,
fat men with pudgy faces,
thin faces, crooked faces
slit eyes, grey eyes, black eyes
old men with dirty beards,
men in vests with
gold watch chains. Come! ”

“ Maybe you will even fall asleep near
⁠them and be
lifted into one of their laps, and in the
⁠morning—
There is always the morning in which to
⁠remember it all!
Of what are they gossiping? God knows. ”

“ If I go meeting her
on the corner
some damned fool
will go blabbing it
to the old man and
she'll get hell.
He's a queer old bastard!
Every time he sees me
you'd think
I wanted to kill him.
But I figure it out
it's best to let things
stay as they are—
for a while at least. ”

“ This plot of ground
facing the waters of this inlet
is dedicated to the living presence of
Emily Richardson Wellcome
who was born in England; married;
lost her husband and with
her five year old son
sailed for New York in a two-master ”