William Carlos Williams

“ The little owl-eyed and thick-set lady with masses
of grey hair has smooth pink cheeks without a wrinkle.
She cannot be the daughter of the little red-faced
fellow dancing about inviting lion-headed Wolff the
druggist to play the piano! But she is. Wolff is a
terrific smoker: if the telephone goes off at night—so
his curled-haired wife whispers—he rises from bed but
cannot answer till he has lighted a cigarette. ”

“ It is the madness of the birch leaves opening
cold, one by one.
[Pg 76]
My rooms will receive me. But my rooms
are no longer sweet spaces where comfort
is ready to wait on me with its crumbs.
A darkness has brushed them. The mass
of yellow tulips in the bowl is shrunken.
Every familiar object is changed and dwarfed. ”

“ It is in this town that the saloon is situated,
close to the railroad track, close as may be, this side
being dry, dry, dry: two people listening on opposite
sides of a wall!—The Day Nursery had sixty-five
babies the week before last, so my wife’s eyes shine
and her cheeks are pink and I cannot see a blemish.
Ice-cream in the shape of flowers and domestic
objects: a pipe for me since I do not smoke, a doll
for you. ”

“ PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR The birches are mad with green points
the wood’s edge is burning with their green,
burning, seething—No, no, no.
The birches are opening their leaves one
by one. Their delicate leaves unfold cold
and separate, one by one. Slender tassels
hang swaying from the delicate branch tips—
Oh, I cannot say it. There is no word.
Black is split at once into flowers. ”

“ Here’s that old friend who
went by my side so many years: this full, fragile
head of veined lavender. Oh that April
that we first went with our stiff lusts
leaving the city behind, out to the green hill—
May, they said she was. A hand for all of us:
this branch of blue butterflies tied to this stem.
June is a yellow cup I’ll not name; August
the over-heavy one. And here are—
russet and shiny, all but March. And March?
Ah, March—
Flowers are a tiresome pastime.
One has a wish to shake them from their pots
[Pg 20] root and stern, for the sun to gnaw. ”

“ BERKET AND THE STARS A day on the boulevards chosen out of ten years of
student poverty! One best day out of ten good ones.
Berket in high spirits—“Ha, oranges! Let’s have one!”
And he made to snatch an orange from the vender’s cart. ”

“ THURSDAY I have had my dream—like others—
and it has come to nothing, so that
I remain now carelessly
with feet planted on the ground
and look up at the sky—
feeling my clothes about me,
the weight of my body in my shoes,
the rim of my hat, air passing in and out
at my nose—and decide to dream no more. ”

“ The hostess’s
sister—ten years younger than she—in black net and
velvet, has hair like some filmy haystack, cloudy about
[Pg 41] the eyes. She will play for her husband.
My wife is young, yes she is young and pretty when
she cares to be—when she is interested in a discussion:
it is the little dancing mayor’s wife telling her of the
Day nursery in East Rutherford, ’cross the track,
divided from us by the railroad—and disputes as to
precedence. It is in this town the saloon flourishes,
the saloon of my friend on the right whose wife has
twice offended with chance words. ”

“ She is sick,
perhaps vomiting,
perhaps laboring
to give birth to
a tenth child. Joy! Joy!
Night is a room
darkened for lovers,
through the jalousies the sun
has sent one gold needle!
I pick the hair from her eyes
and watch her misery
with compassion.
[Pg 38]
THE COLD NIGHT It is cold. The white moon
is up among her scattered stars—
like the bare thighs of
the Police Seargent’s wife—among
her five children.... ”

“ TIME THE HANGMAN Poor old Abner, old white-haired nigger!
I remember when you were so strong
you hung yourself by a rope round the neck
in Doc Hollister’s barn to prove you could beat
the faker in the circus—and it didn’t kill you.
Now your face is in your hands, and your elbows
are on your knees, and you are silent and broken.
[Pg 46]
TO A FRIEND Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen men—and
the baby hard to find a father for! ”

“ It was too strong in the air.
I had no rest against that
springtime!
The pounding of the hoofs on the
raw sods
stayed with me half through the night.
I awoke smiling but tired. ”

“ And coldly the birch leaves are opening one by one.
Coldly I observe them and wait for the end.
And it ends.
[Pg 77]
THE LONELY STREET School is over. It is too hot
to walk at ease. At ease
in light frocks they walk the streets
to while the time away.
They have grown tall. They hold
pink flames in their right hands. ”