William Williams
William Williams
branches fall goes hang leaves tale winter
Some leaves hang late, some fall before the first frost--so goes the tale of winter branches and old bones.
history stay
History must stay open, it is all humanity.
completed imagination life valuable
Life is valuable -- when completed by the imagination. And then only.
surface youth
My surface is myself.Under whichto witness, youth isburied. Roots?Everybody has roots.
gently
You slapped my faceOh but so gently I smiledAt the caress.
array art becomes cling close detail devil difficulty direct eternally finality good imagination knowing lie lifting modern natural scientific scrutiny senses sets stands thus value virtual walking works
But the thing that stands eternally in the way of really good writing is always one: the virtual impossibility of lifting to the imagination those things which lie under the direct scrutiny of the senses, close to the nose. It is this difficulty that sets a value upon all works of art and makes them a necessity. The senses witnessing what is immediately before them in detail see a finality which they cling to in despair, not knowing which way to turn. Thus this so-called natural or scientific array becomes fixed, the walking devil of modern life.
crowd detail laughing seriously
It is summer, it is the solstice the crowd is cheering, the crowd is laughing in detail permanently, seriously without thought.
genius happy shall
Who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household?
genius happy shall
Who shall say I am notthe happy genius of my household?
assertion broken environment failing lifting means poem social thus total toward
The poem, to me (until I go broke) is an attempt, an experiment, a failing experiment, toward assertion with broken means but an assertion, always, of a new and total culture, the lifting of an environment to expression. Thus it is social, the poem is a social instrument.
race
We are a half-mad race, and what we say is not to be trusted.
deep odor passing rank
With what deep thirstwe quicken our desiresto that rank odor of a passing springtime!
admiring houses older plain streets walk younger
When I was younger it was plain to me I must make something of myself. Older now I walk back streets admiring the houses of the very poor. . . .
plain walk
When I was youngerit was plain to meI must make something of myself.Older nowI walk back streetsadmiring the housesof the very poor. . . .