No Small Fête

This poem is the one that first drew Stevens (born today these 134 years ago) to my attention.

The Emperor of Ice Cream

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last […]

Who is Azcan? What's a hoo?

Bantams in Pine-Woods

Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan
Of tan with henna hackles, halt!

Damned universal cock, as if the sun
Was blackamoor to bear your blazing tail.

Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the personal.
Your world is you. I am my world.

You ten-foot poet among inchlings. Fat!
Begone! An inchling bristles in these pines,

Bristles, […]

Lacking Imagination

Wallace Stevens’ birthday is next Wednesday, one day before mine (note to self: post Amazon wishlist in sidebar), so I’ll be posting a poem each (non-Sabbath) day until then. Happily, many of his works are public domain, so I don’t have to wrest or wrangle in order to claim fair use. Today, let […]

A Stevens Flirtation with Imagism?

The Load of Sugar-Cane

The going of the glade-boat
Is like water flowing;

Like water flowing
Through the green saw-grass
Under the rainbows;

Under the rainbows
That are like birds,
Turning, bedizened,

While the wind still whistles
As kildeer do,

When they rise
At the red turban
Of the boatman.

Things I like about this Wallace Stevens poem:

– It’s all one sentence.
– It includes words outrageous as “bedizened”. […]

Two Poems with the Same Subject

and, to my mind, one is far superior. Which one gets your vote?

 

Boy at the Window

Seeing the snowman standing all alone
In dusk and cold is more than he can bear.
The small boy weeps to hear the wind prepare
A night of gnashings and enormous moan.
His tearful sight can hardly reach to where
The pale-faced figure with […]