Delmore Schwartz
Delmore Schwartz
Delmore Schwartzwas an American poet and short story writer...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth8 December 1913
CountryUnited States of America
lonely fall heart
O your life, your lonely lifeWhat have you ever done with it,And done with the great gift of consciousness?What will you ever do before Death's knifeProvides the answer ultimate and appropriate?As I for my part felt in my heart as one who falls,Falls in a parachute, falls endlessly, and feels the vastDraft of the abyss sucking him down and down,An endlessly helplessly falling and appalled clown:This is the way the night passes by, thisIs the overnight endless trip to the famous unfathomable abyss.
memories school unique
Each minute bursts in the burning room,The great globe reels in the solar fire,Spinning the trivial and unique away.(How all things flash! How all things flare!)What am I now that I was then?May memory restore again and againThe smallest color of the smallest day:Time is the school in which we learn,Time is the fire in which we burn.
seven beneath-the-surface iceberg
Is it not clear that a reviewer's psyche, like an iceberg, is seven-eighths beneath the surface?
rocks foam
Poetry must be as new as foam & old as rock.
peace love-is very-good
Love is the tact of every good, The only warmth, the only peace.
party waiting jam
Literary Party: A traffic jam of the lost waiting for the ferry across the Styx.
long funeral age
What does long life avail? The best seats at the funerals of friends.
distraction
I am of Russian-Jewish distraction.
years littles youth
How the false truths of the years of youth have passed!Have passed at full speed like trains which never stoppedThere where I stood and waited, hardly aware,How little I knew, or which of them was the oneTo mount and ride to hope or where true hope arrives.
police way married
I got married the second time in the way that, when a murder is committed, crackpots turn up at the police station to confess the crime.
american-poet husbands lives wives
All poets' wives have rotten lives Their husbands look at them like knives.