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Sure love is cruel and selfish and totally obtuse-- at least, blinded by the light, young love is.
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
Cruelty
Selfish
Totally
Least
Sure
Obtuse
Light
Blinded
Young
Cruel
Love
Selfishness
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What can any of us do with his talent but try to develop his vision, so that through frequent failures we may learn better what we have missed in the past.
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History, history! We fools, what do we know or care.
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Shoes twisted into incredible lilies.
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Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red firetruck moving tense unheeded to gong clangs siren howls and wheels rumbling through the dark city.
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Imagination though it cannot wipe out the sting of remorse can instruct the mind in its proper uses.
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First we have to see. Or first we have to be taught to see. We have to be taught to see here, because here is everywhere, related to everywhere else, and if we don't see, hear, taste, smell and feel in this place - not only will we never know anything but the world of sense will be by that much diminished everywhere.
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As the rain falls so does your love bathe every open object of the world
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The beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
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The American idiom has much to offer us that the English language has never heard of
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We are blind and live our blind lives out in blindness.
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But all art is sensual and poetry particularly so. It is directly, that is, of the senses, and since the senses do not exist without an object for their employment all art is necessarily objective. It doesn't declaim or explain, it presents.
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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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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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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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Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Your knees are a southern breeze.
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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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Minds like beds always made up (more stony than a shore) unwilling or unable.
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O Marvelous! What new configuration will come next? I am bewildered with multiplicity.
William Carlos Williams
