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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
Eyes
Quietly
Talk
Stream
Heaven
Beneath
Eye
Streams
Language
Aware
Long
Speech
Quiet
Coursing
Silence
Lapses
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Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood's edge
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Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire that closes round me this year.
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You lethargic, waiting upon me, waiting for the fire and I attendant upon you, shaken by your beauty Shaken by your beauty Shaken.
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The beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
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There's nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made of words.
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THE THOUGHTFUL LOVER Deny yourself all half things. Have it or leave it. But it will keep—or it is not worth the having. Never start anything you can't finish— However do not lose faith because you are starved! She loves you she says. Believe it —tomorrow. But today the particulars of poetry that difficult art require your whole attention.
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Most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see them
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My surface is myself. Under which to witness, youth is buried. Roots? Everybody has roots.
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Houses - the dark side silhouetted on flashes of moonlight!
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all to no end save beauty the eternal-- So in detail they, the crowd, are beautiful
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Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Your knees are a southern breeze.
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Being an art form, verse cannot be free in the sense of having no limitations or guiding principle.
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The business of love is cruelty which, by our wills, we transform to live together.
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Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentities stirs me to it: colored women day workers- old and experienced- returning home at dusk, in cast off clothing faces like old Florentine oak.
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The War is the first and only thing in the world today. The arts generally are not, nor is this writing a diversion from that for relief, a turning away. It is the war or part of it, merely a different sector of the field.
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We are blind and live our blind lives out in blindness.
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Divorce is the sign of knowledge in our time.
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A new world is only a new mind.
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There is no comment on pictures but pictures, on music but music, on poems but poetry. If you do, you do. If you don't, you don't. And that's all there is to that.
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I pick the hair from her eyes and watch her misery with compassion.
William Carlos Williams