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The old brown hen and the old blue sky, Between the two we live and die The broken cartwheel on the hill.
Wallace Stevens
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Wallace Stevens
Age: 75 †
Born: 1879
Born: October 2
Died: 1955
Died: August 2
Journalist
Lawyer
Playwright
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Writer
Life
Sky
Blue
Broken
Humanity
Cartwheels
Dies
Hens
Two
Hill
Live
Hills
Country
Brown
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The grackles sing avant the spring Most spiss oh! Yes, most spissantly. They sing right puissantly.
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The fire burns as the novel taught it how.
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True villains are extremely photogenic.
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Life is an affair of people not of places. But for me, life is an affair of places and that is the trouble.
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Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof.
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Spread outward. Crack the round dome. Break through. Have liberty not as the air within a grave Or down a well. Breathe freedom, oh, my native, In the space of horizons that neither love nor hate.
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Fromage and coffee and cognac and no gods.
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The reading of a poem should be an experience. Its writing must be all the more so.
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Union of the weakest develops strength not wisdom. Can all men, together, avenge one of the leaves that have fallen in autumn? But the wise man avenges by building his city in snow.
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The heavy trees, The grunting, shuffling branches, the robust, The nocturnal, the antique, the blue-green pines Deepen the feelings to inhuman depths.
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If poetry should address itself to the same needs and aspirations, the same hopes and fears, to which the Bible addresses itself, it might rival it in distribution.
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To live in the world but outside of existing conceptions of it.
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That tuft of jungle feathers, That animal eye, Is just what you say. That savage of fire, That seed, Have it your way. The world is ugly, And the people are sad.
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Style is not something applied. It is something that permeates.
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What our eyes behold may well be the text of life but one's meditations on the text and the disclosures of these meditations are no less a part of the structure of reality.
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