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Love is that common tone shall raise his fiery head and sound his note.
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
Love
Tone
Raise
Raises
Notes
Shall
Head
Common
Fiery
Sound
Note
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But the sea which no one tends is also a garden
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The better work men do is always done under stress and at great personal cost.
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Lifeless in appearance, sluggish dazed spring approaches They enter the new world naked, cold, uncertain of all save that they enter.
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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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Remorse is a virtue in that it is a stirrer up of the emotions but it is a folly to accept it is a criticism of conduct.
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Nothing whips my blood like verse.
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As the rain falls so does your love bathe every open object of the world
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I thought my friends were damn fools, because they didn't know any better way of conducting their lives. Still they conformed better than I to a code. I wanted to conform but I couldn't so I wrote my poetry.
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The instant trivial as it is is all we have unless-unless things the imagination feeds upon, the scent of the rose, startle us anew.
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No ideas but in things.
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Either I exist or I do not exist, and no amount of pap which I happen to be lapping can dull me to the loss.
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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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I tried to put a bird in a cage. O fool that I am! For the bird was Truth. Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put Truth in a cage!
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The only realism in art is of the imagination.
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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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The poem is a capsule where we wrap up our punishable secrets.
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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 set pieces of your faces stir me - leading citizens - but not in the same way.
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A poem is this:/A nuance of sound/delicately operating/upon a cataract of sense/...the particulars/of a song waking/upon a bed of sound.
William Carlos Williams
