加载中…【威廉·卡洛斯·威廉斯的几首诗】
(2016-10-08 21:00:01)Complaint
William Carlos Williams, 1883 -
1963
It is a frozen
road
past midnight, a
dust
of snow
caught
in the rigid
wheeltracks.
The door
opens.
I smile, enter
and
shake off the
cold.
Here is a great
woman
on her side in the
bed.
She is
sick,
perhaps
vomiting,
perhaps
laboring
to give birth
to
a tenth child. Joy!
Joy!
Night is a
room
darkened for
lovers,
through the jalousies the
sun
has sent one golden
needle!
I pick the hair from her
eyes
and watch her
misery
with compassion.
————————————————
A Love Song
William Carlos Williams, 1883 -
1963
What have I to say to
you
When we shall
meet?
Yet—
I lie here thinking of
you.
The stain of love
Is upon the world.
Yellow, yellow,
yellow,
It eats into the
leaves,
Smears with
saffron
The horned branches that
lean
Heavily
Against a smooth purple
sky.
There is no light—
Only a honey-thick
stain
That drips from leaf to
leaf
And limb to limb
Spoiling the
colours
Of the whole
world.
I am alone.
The weight of love
Has buoyed me up
Till my head
Knocks against the
sky.
See me!
My hair is dripping with
nectar—
Starlings carry it
On their black
wings.
See, at last
My arms and my
hands
Are lying idle.
How can I tell
If I shall ever love you
again
As I do now?
——————————————————
It Is a Small
Plant
William Carlos Williams, 1883 -
1963
delicately branched and
tapering conically
to a point, each branch
and the peak a wire for
green pods, blind lanterns
starting upward from
the stalk each way to
a pair of prickly edged blue
flowerets: it is her regard,
a little plant without leaves,
a finished thing guarding
its secret. Blue eyes—
but there are twenty looks
in one, alike as forty flowers
on twenty stems—Blue eyes
a little closed upon a wish
achieved and half lost again,
stemming back, garlanded
with green sacks of
satisfaction gone to seed,
back to a straight stem—if
one looks into you, trumpets—!
No. It is the pale hollow of
desire itself counting
over and over the moneys of
a stale achievement. Three
small lavender imploring tips
below and above them two
slender colored arrows
of disdain with anthers
between them and
at the edge of the goblet
a white lip, to drink from—!
And summer lifts her look
forty times over, forty times
over—namelessly.
——————————————————、
The Red Wheelbarrow - Poem by
William Carlos Williams
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
William Carlos
Williams
————————————
A Sort Of A Song - Poem by
William Carlos Williams
Let the snake wait
under
his weed
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick,
sharp
to strike, quiet to
wait,
sleepless.
-- through metaphor to
reconcile
the people and the
stones.
Compose. (No ideas
but in things)
Invent!
Saxifrage is my flower that
splits
the
rocks.
William Carlos
Williams
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