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My first poem was a bolt from the blue … it broke a spell of disillusion and suicidal despondence. ... it filled me with soul satisfying joy.
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
Soul
Spell
Firsts
Spells
First
Satisfying
Poem
Broke
Disillusion
Filled
Bolt
Blue
Bolts
Joy
Suicidal
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In summer, the song sings itself.
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through metaphor to reconcile the people and the stones.
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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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Unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line, the old will go on repeating itself with recurring deadliness
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[History is] a tyranny over the souls of the dead - and so the imagination of the living.
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Say it, no ideas but in things - nothing but the blank faces of the houses and cylindrical trees bent, forked by preconception and accident - split, furrowed, creased, mottled, stained - secret - into the body of the light!
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No opinion can be trusted even the facts may be nothing but a printer's error.
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You have the chicken, the hen, and the rooster. The chicken goes with the hen So who is having sex with the rooster?
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A new world is only a new mind.
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It is not what you say that matters but the manner in which you say it there lies the secret of the ages.
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No wreaths please - especially no hothouse flowers. Some common memento is better, something he prized and is known by: his old clothes - a few books perhaps.
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The perfect type of the man of action is the suicide.
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One by one the objects are defined? It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf But now the stark dignity of entrance?Still, the profound change has come upon them: rooted, they grip down and begin to awaken.
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It's the anarchy of poverty delights me, the old yellow wooden house indented among the new brick tenements
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What power has love but forgiveness? In other words by its intervention what has been done can be undone. What good is it otherwise?
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The weight of love Has buoyed me up Till my head Knocks against the sky.
William Carlos Williams
Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait, sleepless. - through metaphor to reconcile the people and the stones. Compose. (No ideas but in things) Invent! Saxifrage is my flower that splits the rocks.
William Carlos Williams
I pick the hair from her eyes and watch her misery with compassion.
William Carlos Williams
Death will be too late to bring us aid.
William Carlos Williams
Afraid lest he be caught up in a net of words, tripped up, bewildered and so defeated-thrown aside-a man hesitates to write down his innermost convictions.
William Carlos Williams
