Poetry, April 6

[jade_sabre]

So I woke up to snow, and now it's gone but the wind outside is howling, and so I thought I would look for a poem about wind. What ensued was a good half-hour search, in which I found a poem in about ten minutes but only found it in spoken form, which wouldn't do because then I wouldn't know how it was written down, and after discovering that this poem is nowhere on the internet I had the flash of insight to go to Amazon.com and search inside a book of poetry, eh voila!

It turns out to be a good thing, too, because the way the poet read this poem (running everything together) is very different from the way it's written (as you will see). But I love the wind and I love the middle bit about poets, and so today I bring you, from William Carlos Williams:

The Wind Increases

The harried
earth is swept
                           The trees
the tulip's bright
              tips
                          sidle and
toss--

             Loose your love
to flow

Blow!

Good Christ what is
a poet--if any
                          exists?

a man
whose words will
             bite
                          their way
home--being actual
having the form
                          of motion

At each twigtip

new

upon the tortured body of thought

             gripping

the ground

a way
             to the last leaftip

Comments

[fabricalchemist.livejournal.com]

Ahh, you made me think of this one ♥

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

[ascii-encore.livejournal.com]

yay.

the poem i'm posting tomorrow is going to be so awesome.