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— William Carlos Williams, from “Paterson.”

[Text ID: “We sit and talk, quietly, with long lapses of silence and I am aware of the stream that has no language, coursing beneath the quiet heaven of your eyes.”]

William Carlos Williams

William Carlos Williams

sorry but i ate your boyfriend that was in the ice box. i hate to tell you this i know you were probably saving him for breakfast. he was delicious (and sweet) (and cold) . sorry about that

my 1964 copy of allen ginsberg's howl

Practical to the end, it is the poem of his existence that triumphed finally; a wisp of feathers flattened to the pavement, wings spread symmetrically as if in flight, the head gone, the black escutcheon of the breast undecipherable, an effigy of a sparrow, a dried wafer only, left to say and it says it without offense, beautifully; This was I, a sparrow. I did my best; farewell.

William Carlos Williams, excerpt of "The Sparrow," from Selected Poems

Troubled poet Ezra Pound a month after being released from St. Elizabeths psychiatric hospital in Washington D.C. where he was incarcerated for twelve years. (Photographed by Richard Avedon, 30 June 1958, at the home of William Carlos Williams in Rutherford, New Jersey.)

William Carlos Williams, September 17, 1883 – March 4, 1963.

È sul bordo del

petalo che l’amore attende.

William Carlos Williams, da La primavera e il resto

william carlos williams

Man finds himself on the earth whether he likes it or not, with nowhere else to go. What then is to become of him? Obviously we can't stand still or we shall be destroyed. Then if there is no room for us on the outside we shall, in spite of ourselves, have to go in: into the cell, the atom, the poetic line, for our discoveries. We have to break the old apart to make room for ourselves, whatever may be our tragedy and however we may fear it.

William Carlos Williams, in his introduction to Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass

In summer, the song sings itself.

夏には、歌そのものが歌う。

William Carlos Williams ウィリアム・カーロス・ウィリアムズ