William Carlos Williams


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William Carlos Williams

  1. 1. William Carlos Williams and the Visual Arts
  2. 2. Contact—the art and poetry magazine
  3. 3. Marsden Hartley Photograph by Alfred Stieglitz Marsden Hartley, 1915-1916
  4. 4. Marsden Hartley The Aero, 1914
  5. 5. “The Red Wheelbarrow” so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.
  6. 6. Imagination In his introduction to Spring and All, Williams declares that he is addressing his poems to the imagination. He explains that his approach is meant to tie the writer and reader together, when he writes the following: In the imagination, we are from henceforth (so long as you read) locked in a fraternal embrace, the classic caress of author and reader. We are one. Whenever I say, “I” I mean also, “you.” And so, together, as one, we shall begin. (89)
  7. 7. “Pot of Flowers” Charles Demuth, Tuberoses, 1922
  8. 8. John Marin Lower Manhattan: Composing Derived from the top of Woolworth, 1922
  9. 9. John Marin Brooklyn Bridge, 1912
  10. 10. “Young Love (IX)” What about all this writing? O "kiki" O miss margaret jarvis the backhandspring I: clean clean clean: yes..New York Wrigley's, appendicitis, John Marin: skyscraper soup-- Either that or a bullet! Once anything might have happened You lay relaxed on my knees-- the starry night spread out warm and blind above the hospital-- Pah! It is unclean which is not straight to the mark-- In my life the furniture eats me the chairs, the floor the walls which heard your sobs drank up my emotion-- they which alone know everything and snitched on us in the morning-- What to want? Drunk we go forward surely Not I beds, beds, beds elevators, fruit, night tables breasts to see, white and blue-- to hold in the hand, to nozzle It is not onion soup Your sobs soaked through the walls breaking the hospital to pieces Everything --windows, chairs obscenely drunk, spinning-- white, blue, orange --hot with our passion
  11. 11. wild tears, desperate rejoinders my legs, turning slowly end over end in the air! But what would you have? All I said was: there, you see, it is broken stockings, shoes, hairpins your bed, I wrapped myself round you-- I watched. You sobbed, you beat your pillow you tore your hair you dug your nails into your sides I was your nightgown I watched! Clean is he alone after whom stream the broken pieces of the city-- flying apart at his approaches but I merely caress you curiously fifteen years ago and you still go about the city, they say patching up sick school children
  12. 12. “The Rose” Juan Gris Flowers, 1914
  13. 13. “The Rose” The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air--The edge cuts without cutting meets--nothing--renews itself in metal or porcelain– whither? It ends– But if it ends the start is begun so that to engage roses becomes a geometry– Sharper, neater, more cutting figured in majolica-- the broken plate glazed with a rose Somewhere the sense makes copper roses steel roses– The rose carried weight of love but love is at an end--of roses It is at the edge of the petal that love waits Crisp, worked to defeat laboredness--fragile plucked, moist, half-raised cold, precise, touching What The place between the petal's edge and the From the petal's edge a line starts that being of steel infinitely fine, infinitely rigid penetrates the Milky Way without contact--lifting from it--neither hanging nor pushing-- The fragility of the flower unbruised penetrates space
  14. 14. “This is just to say” This is just to say I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably Saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold