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We sit and talk quietly, with long lapses of silence, and I am aware of the stream that has no language, coursing beneath the quiet heaven of your eyes, which has no speech.
William Carlos Williams
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William Carlos Williams
Age: 79 †
Born: 1883
Born: September 17
Died: 1963
Died: March 4
Autobiographer
Literary Critic
Physician
Physician Writer
Poet
Writer
Language
Aware
Long
Speech
Quiet
Coursing
Silence
Lapses
Eyes
Quietly
Talk
Stream
Heaven
Beneath
Eye
Streams
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If I admire my arms, my face, my shoulders, flanks, buttocks against the yellow drawn shades,-- Who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household?
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O Marvelous! What new configuration will come next? I am bewildered with multiplicity.
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Death will be too late to bring us aid.
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I have never been one to write by rule, not even by my own rules.
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Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees above a snow glaze. Gaining and failing they are buffeted by a dark wind - But what? On harsh weedstalks the flock has rested - the snow is covered with broken seed husks and the wind tempered with a shrill piping of plenty.
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All women are not Helen, I know that, but have Helen in their hearts.
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I'll write whatever I damn please, whenever I damn please and as I damn please and it'll be good if the authentic spirit of change is on it.
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Empty pockets make empty heads.
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It was the love of love, the love of swallows up all else, a grateful love, a love of natural, of people, of animals, a love ingengering gentleness and goodness that moved meand that I saw in you
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As birds' wings beat the solid air without which none could fly so words freed by the imagination affirm reality by their flight.
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Sure love is cruel and selfish and totally obtuse-- at least, blinded by the light, young love is.
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When I am alone I am happy.
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My surface is myself. Under which to witness, youth is buried. Roots? Everybody has roots.
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In summer, the song sings itself.
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A new world is only a new mind.
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History must stay open, it is all humanity.
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