Quote

You lethargic, waiting upon me, waiting for the fire and I attendant upon you, shaken by your beauty Shaken by your beauty Shaken.

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
Upon
Lethargic
Attendant
Shaken
Fire
Beauty
Waiting

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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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Dissonance / (if you are interested) / leads to discovery.
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The pure products of America go crazy
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When I am alone I am happy.
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If it ain't a pleasure, it ain't a poem.
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Houses - the dark side silhouetted on flashes of moonlight!
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beauty’ is related not to ‘loveliness’ but to a state in which reality plays a part.
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Love is unworldly and nothing comes of it but love.
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The pure products of America go crazy--mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey with its isolate lakes and valleys, its deaf-mutes, thieves.
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A poem is a small machine made of words. . .Its movement is intrinsic, undulant, a physical more than a literary character.
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History, history! We fools, what do we know or care.
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and there grows in the mind a scent, it may be, of locust blossoms whose perfume is itself a wind moving to lead the mind away.
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But the sea which no one tends is also a garden
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I think of the poetry of René Char and all he must have seen and suffered that has brought him to speak only of sedgy rivers, of daffodils and tulips whose roots they water, even to the free-flowing river that laves the rootlets of those sweet-scented flowers that people the milky way
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For there is a wind or a ghost of wind in all books echoing the life there, a high wind that fills the tubes of the ear until we think we hear a wind, actual.
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The descent beckons as the ascent beckoned
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To refine, to clarify, to intensify that eternal moment in which we alone live there is but a single force the imagination.
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History must stay open, it is all humanity.
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Minds like beds always made up (more stony than a shore) unwilling or unable.
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It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there.
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