Selected Poems

by William Carlos Williams

  The blood is still and indifferent, the face

  does not ache nor sweat soil nor the

  mouth thirst. Now love might enjoy its play

  and nothing disturb the full octave of its run.

  The Library

  (From Book Three)

  I

  I love the locust tree

  the sweet white locust

  How much?

  How much?

  How much does it cost

  to love the locust tree

  in bloom?

  A fortune bigger than

  Avery could muster

  So much

  So much

  the shelving green

  locust

  whose bright small leaves

  in June

  lean among flowers

  sweet and white at

  heavy cost

  A cool of books

  will sometimes lead the mind to libraries

  of a hot afternoon, if books can be found

  cool to the sense to lead the mind away.

  For there is a wind or ghost of a wind

  in all books echoing the life

  there, a high wind that fills the tubes

  of the ear until we think we hear a wind,

  actual .

  to lead the mind away.

  Drawn from the streets we break off

  our minds’ seclusion and are taken up by

  the books’ winds, seeking, seeking

  down the wind

  until we are unaware which is the wind and

  which the wind’s power over us

  to lead the mind away

  and there grows in the mind

  a scent, it may be, of locust blossoms

  whose perfume is itself a wind moving

  to lead the mind away

  through which, below the cataract

  soon to be dry

  the river whirls and eddys

  first recollected.

  Spent from wandering the useless

  streets these months, faces folded against

  him like clover at nightfall, something

  has brought him back to his own

  mind .

  in which a falls unseen

  tumbles and rights itself

  and refalls—and does not cease, falling

  and refalling with a roar, a reverberation

  not of the falls but of its rumor

  unabated

  Beautiful thing,

  my dove, unable and all who are windblown,

  touched by the fire

  and unable,

  a roar that (soundless) drowns the sense

  with its reiteration

  unwilling to lie in its bed

  and sleep and sleep, sleep

  in its dark bed.

  Summer! it is summer .

  —and still the roar in his mind is

  unabated

  . . .

  (From Book Four)

  What’s that?

  —a duck, a hell-diver? A swimming dog?

  What, a sea-dog? There it is again.

  A porpoise, of course, following

  the mackerel . No. Must be the up-

  end of something sunk. But this is moving!

  Maybe not. Flotsam of some sort.

  A large, compact bitch gets up, black,

  from where she has been lying

  under the bank, yawns and stretches with

  a half suppressed half whine, half cry .

  She looks to sea, cocking her ears and,

  restless, walks to the water’s edge where

  she sits down, half in the water .

  When he came out, lifting his knees

  through the waves she went to him frisking

  her rump awkwardly .

  Wiping his face with his hand he turned

  to look back to the waves, then

  knocking at his ears, walked up

  to stretch out flat on his back in

  the hot sand . there were some

  girls, far down the beach, playing ball.

  —must have slept. Got up again, rubbed

  the dry sand off and walking a

  few steps got into a pair of faded

  overalls, slid his shirt on overhand (the

  sleeves were still rolled up) shoes,

  hat where she had been watching them under

  the bank and turned again

  to the water’s steady roar, as of a distant

  waterfall . Climbing the

  bank, after a few tries, he picked

  some beach plums from a low bush and

  sampled one of them, spitting the seed out,

  then headed inland, followed by the dog

  . . .

  (From Book Five)

  A flight of birds, all together,

  seeking their nests in the season

  a flock before dawn, small birds

  “That slepen al the night with open yë,”

  moved by desire, passionately, they

  have come a long way, commonly.

  Now they separate and go by pairs

  each to his appointed mating. The

  colors of their plumage are undecipherable

  in the sun’s glare against the sky

  but the old man’s mind is stirred

  by the white, the yellow, the black

  as if he could see them there.

  Their presence in the air again

  calms him. Though he is approaching

  death he is possessed by many poems.

  Flowers have always been his friends,

  even in paintings and tapestries

  which have lain through the past

  in museums jealously guarded, treated

  against moths. They draw him imperiously

  to witness them, make him think

  of bus schedules and how to avoid

  the irreverent— to refresh himself

  at the sight direct from the 12th

  century what the old women or the young

  or men or boys wielding their needles

  to put in her green thread correctly

  beside the purple, myrtle beside

  holly and the brown threads beside:

  together as the cartoon has plotted it

  for them. All together, working together—

  all the birds together. The birds

  and leaves are designed to be woven

  in his mind eating and . .

  all together for his purposes

  Index of titles

  A Bastard Peace, 128

  Abroad, 8

  Adam, 108

  Advent, 3

  Against the Sky, 142

  An Early Martyr, 89

  A Note, 180

  Apology, 16

  A Portrait of the Times, 141

  Arrival, 32

  Asphodel, That Greeny Flower, 226

  A Sort of a Song, 145

  At the Ball Game, 57

  At the Faucet of June, 46

  Autumn, 124

  A Woman in Front of a Bank, 163

  Blueflags, 33

  Broadway, 5

  Burning the Christmas Greens, 148

  Children’s Games, 246

  Clarity, 4

  Classic Scene, 123

  Death, 78

  Death the Barber, 51

  Dedication for a Plot of Ground, 25

  El Hombre, 20

  Every Day, 179

  Fine Work with Pitch and Copper, 107

  Flowers by the Sea, 91

  Franklin Square, 161

  Hard Times, 169

  Haymaking, 242

  His Daughter, 166

  Item, 92

  It Is a Living Coral, 62

  Jersey Lyric, 252

  Labrador, 162

  Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, 238

  Morning, 133

  Nantucket, 72

  New England, 69

  On Gay Wallpaper,
71

  Overture to a Dance of Locomotives, 29

  Pastoral, 15

  Pastoral, 17

  Paterson, 259

  Paterson: the Falls, 146

  Peasant Wedding, 241

  Philomena Andronico, 175

  Poem, 70

  Proletarian Portrait, 98

  Raindrops on a Briar, 172

  Seafarer, 181

  Self-Portrait, 237

  Song, 249

  Sonnet in Search of an Author, 255

  Soothsay, 9

  Spring and All, 39

  Spring Strains, 21

  St. James’ Grove, 10

  Suzanne, 173

  The Adoration of the Kings, 240

  The Attic Which Is Desire, 73

  The Banner Bearer, 165

  The Bare Tree, 157

  The Bitter World of Spring, 164

  The Botticellian Trees, 80

  The Catholic Bells, 103

  The Cod Head, 67

  The Corn Harvest, 243

  The Crimson Cyclamen, 112

  The Dance, 147

  The Dance, 251

  The Defective Record, 130

  The Descent of Winter, 82

  The Eyeglasses, 48

  The Farmer, 41

  The Forgotten City, 155

  The Great Figure, 36

  The Hard Core of Beauty, 184

  The Horse, 168

  The Host, 207

  The Hunters in the Snow, 239

  The Ivy Crown, 213

  The Last Words of My English Grandmother, 139

  The Lesson, 186

  The Locust Tree in Flower (first version), 93

  The Locust Tree in Flower (second version), 94

  The Lonely Street, 35

  The Manoeuvre, 167

  The Mind Hesitant, 174

  The Motor-Barge, 170

  The Orchestra, 204

  The Parable of the Blind, 245

  The Pink Locust, 223

  The Poem, 151

  The Polar Bear, 250

  The Poor, 129

  The Pot of Flowers, 40

  The Predicter of Famine, 140

  The Raper from Passenack, 99

  The Red Wheelbarrow, 56

  The Right of Way, 49

  The Rose, 44

  These, 131

  The Sea-Elephant, 75

  The Semblables, 151

  The Sound of Waves, 182

  The Sparrow, 216

  The Storm, 154

  The Strike, 6

  The Sun, 126

  The Sun Bathers, 66

  The Term, 125

  The Wanderer, 3

  The Wedding Dance in the Open Air, 244

  The Well Disciplined Bargeman, 171

  The Widow’s Lament in Springtime, 34

  The Woodthrush, 250

  The Yachts, 101

  The Yellow Chimney, 156

  This Is Just to Say, 74

  To a Poor Old Woman, 97

  To a Solitary Disciple, 23

  To Daphne and Virginia, 199

  To Elsie, 53

  To Have Done Nothing, 42

  To the Ghost of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, 253

  To Waken An Old Lady, 31

  Tract, 18

  Trees, 22

  Tribute to the Painters, 220

  Two Pendants: for the Ears, 187

  View of a Lake, 95

  Young Sycamore, 61

  Index of first lines

  A big young bareheaded woman, 98

  According to Brueghel, 238

  According to their need, 207

  A flight of birds, all together, 296

  Among, 93

  Among, 94

  Among the rain, 36

  And so it came to that last day, 10

  And yet one arrives somehow, 32

  A perfect rainbow! a wide, 154

  A power-house, 123

  Approaching death, 226

  A quatrain? Is that, 182

  are the desolate, dark weeks, 131

  A rumpled sheet, 125

  A stand of people, 124

  As the cat, 70

  A tramp thawing out, 66

  a trouble, 62

  At the first peep of dawn she roused me!, 6

  beauty is a shell, 249

  Brother Paul! look!, 173

  By the road to the contagious hospital, 39

  “Come!” cried my mind and by her might, 4

  contend in a sea which the land partly encloses, 101

  Crooked, black tree, 22

  Cut the bank for the fill, 130

  Disciplined by the artist, 244

  Eight days went by, eight days, 9

  Even in the time when as yet, 3

  Every day that I go out to my car, 179

  Flowers through the window, 72

  fortunate man it is not too late, 250

  from a, 95

  From the Nativity, 240

  He grew up by the sea, 108

  Her jaw wagging, 166

  He’s dead, 78

  his coat resembles the snow, 250

  How clean these shallows, 162

  I, a writer, at one time hipped on, 172

  I have eaten, 74

  I love the locust tree, 293

  I’m persistent as the pink locust, 223

  I must tell you, 61

  In a red winter hat blue, 237

  In a tissue-thin monotone of blue-grey buds, 21

  In Brueghel’s great picture, The Kermess, 147

  In passing with my mind, 49

  Instead of, 161

  In the dead weeds a rubbish heap, 82

  In the rain, the lonesome, 165

  in this strong light, 84

  is a condition―, 69

  I saw the two starlings, 167

  I stopped the car, 33

  It’s all in, 151

  It’s a strange courage, 20

  It’s the anarchy of poverty, 129

  It was then she struck―from behind, 5

  I will teach you my townspeople, 18

  Let me not forget at least, 142

  Let the snake wait under, 145

  lifts heavily, 126

  Men with picked voices chant the names, 29

  Miscellaneous weed, 67

  munching a plum on, 97

  Never, even in a dream, 8

  No that is not it, 42

  Now they are resting, 107

  Nude bodies like peeled logs, 255

  Of death, 51

  Old age is, 31

  On a wet pavement the white sky recedes, 164

  on the hill is cool! Even the dead, 133

  Outside, 273

  Paterson lies in the valley under the Passaic Falls, 261

  Pink confused with white, 40

  Pour the wine bridegroom, 241

  Rather notice, mon cher, 23

  Rather than permit him, 89

  Satyrs dance!, 220

  School is over. It is too hot, 35

  Sometimes the river, 174

  so much depends, 56

  Sorrow is my own yard, 34

  Stone steps, a solid, 169

  Summer!, 243

  that brilliant field, 83

  The alphabet of, 80

  The bank is a matter of columns, 163

  The bare cherry tree, 157

  The crowd at the ball game, 57

  The farmer in deep thought, 41

  The green-blue ground, 71

  The horse moves, 168

  The hydrangea, 186

  Their time past, pulled down, 148

  The little sparrows, 17

  The living quality of, 242

  The moon, the dried weeds, 85

  The most marvellous is not, 184

  The motor-barge is, 170

  The over-all picture is winter, 239

  The precise counterpart, 204

  The pure products of America, 53

  There are no perfect waves―, 82

  The red brick monastery
in, 152

  There is a plume, 156

  There is no direction. Whither? I, 265

  There were some dirty plates, 139

  The rose is obsolete, 44

  The sea will wash in, 181

  The shadow does not move. It is the water moves, 171

  The smell of the heat is boxwood, 199

  The sunlight in a, 46

  The universality of things, 48

  the unused tent, 73

  The whole process is a lie, 213

  This horrible but superb painting, 245

  This is a schoolyard, 246

  This plot of ground, 25

  This sparrow, 216

  This, with a face, 92

  Tho’ I’m no Catholic, 103

  To celebrate your brief life, 253

  To make a start, 259

  Trundled from, 75

  Two W. P. A. men, 141

  view of winter trees, 252

  was very kind. When she regained, 99

  What common language to unravel?, 146

  What’s that?, 295

  When I was younger, 15

  When over the flowery, sharp pasture’s, 91

  When the cataract dries up, my dear, 180

  When the snow falls the flakes, 251

  When with my mother I was coming down, 155

  ―where a heavy, 128

  White day, black river, 140

  White suffused with red, 112

  Why do I write today?, 16

  With the boys busy, 175

  You lean the head forward, 187

  BY WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS

  Asphodel and Other Love Poems

  The Autobiography of William Carlos Williams

  The Build-up

  The Collected Poems, Volume I

  The Collected Poems, Volume II

  The Doctor Stories

  The Embodiment of Knowledge

  The Farmers’ Daughters

  Imaginations

  In the American Grain

  In the Money

  I Wanted to Write a Poem

  Many Loves and Other Plays

  Paterson

  Pictures from Brueghel and Other Poems

  Selected Essays

  Selected Letters

  Selected Poems

  Something to Say: WCW on Younger Poets

  A Voyage to Pagany

  White Mule

  The William Carlos Williams Reader

  Yes, Mrs. Williams

  Copyright 1917, 1921 by The Four Seas Company.

  Copyright 1934 by The Objectivist Press.

  Copyright 1935 by The Alcestis Press.

  Copyright 1936 by Ronald Lane Latimer.

  Copyright © 1938, 1944, 1949, 1950, 1951, 1952, 1953, 1954, 1955, 1956, 1957, 1959, 1960, 1961, and 1962 by William Carlos Williams.

  Copyright © 1963 by The Estate of William Carlos Williams.

  Copyright © 1967 by Mrs. William Carlos Williams.

  Copyright © 1976 by Charles Tomlinson.

  Copyright © 1985 by New Directions Publishing Corporation.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in a newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or website review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.