THE GREAT FIGURE
William Carlos Williams
Among the rain
I saw the figure 5
on a red
to gong clangs
and wheels rumbling
through the dark city.
William Carlos Williams, born 131 years ago today. Here, someone else's WCW birthday post too. Yes, I posted the 5 (and the celebratory blog background) last night with urgency after I brainfarted and published and then deleted the above photo and the below poems, now incorporated last night's into this post and deleted last night. Click the WCW tag for more poems.
We buried the cat
then took her box
and set fire to it
in the backyard.
Those fleas that escaped
earth and fire
died by the cold.
A SORT OF SONG
Let the snake wait under
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp
to strike, quiet to wake,
- through metaphor to reconcile
the people and the stones.
Compose. (No idea
but in things) Invent!
Saxifrage is my flower that splits
Oh strong-ridged and deeply hollowed
nose of mine! what will you not be smelling?
What tactless asses we are, you and I, boney nose,
always indiscriminate, always unashamed,
and now it is the souring flowers of the bedraggled
poplars: a festering pulp on the wet earth
beneath them. With what deep thirst
we quicken our desires
to that rank odor of a passing springtime!
Can you not be decent? Can you not reserve your ardors
for something less unlovely? What girl will care
for us, do you think, if we continue in these ways?
Must you taste everything? Must you know everything?
Must you have a part in everything?
SONNET IN SEARCH OF AN AUTHOR
Nude bodies like peeled logs
sometimes give off a sweetest
odor, man and woman
under the trees in full excess
matching the cushion of
aromatic pine-drift fallen
threaded with trailing woodbine
a sonnet might be made of it
Might be made of it! odor of excess
odor of pine needles, odor of
peeled logs, odor of no odor
other than trailing woodbine that
has no odor, odor of a nude woman
sometimes, odor of a man.