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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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A new music is a new mind.
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so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.
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History must stay open, it is all humanity.
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we, in that instant, lost, breathless to be witnesses, as if we stood ourselves refreshed among the shining fauna of that fire.
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No opinion can be trusted even the facts may be nothing but a printer's error.
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As the rain falls so does your love bathe every open object of the world
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A poem is a small machine made out of words.
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In summer, the song sings itself.
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That which is possible is inevitable.
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The poem springs from the half spoken words of the patient.... When asked, how I have for so many years continued an equal interest in medicine and the poem, I reply that they amount for me to nearly the same thing.
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We are blind and live our blind lives out in blindness.
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The poem is a capsule where we wrap up our punishable secrets.
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Everyone in this life is defeated but a man, if he be a man, is not defeated.
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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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The only realism in art is of the imagination.
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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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The better work men do is always done under stress and at great personal cost.
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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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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.
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Divorce is the sign of knowledge in our time.
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