 Poetry: December 04, 2019 Issue [#9899] |
This week: William Carlos Williams Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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The Uses Of Poetry
by William Carlos Williams
I've fond anticipation of a day
O'erfilled with pure diversion presently,
For I must read a lady poesy
The while we glide by many a leafy bay,
Hid deep in rushes, where at random play
The glossy black winged May-flies, or whence flee
Hush-throated nestlings in alarm,
Whom we have idly frighted with our boat's long sway.
For, lest o'ersaddened by such woes as spring
To rural peace from our meek onward trend,
What else more fit? We'll draw the latch-string
And close the door of sense; then satiate wend,
On poesy's transforming giant wing,
To worlds afar whose fruits all anguish mend.
On September 17, 1183, in Rutherford New Jersey, William George Williams and his wife welcomed son, William Carlos Williams, into their family. Williams and his younger brother Edward went to primary school in Rutherford. Williams’s father explode his sons to literature and art at a young age. This helped Williams know he wanted to pursue writing while in high school. Williams attended Horace Mann High School in New York City. He also spent two years studying in Europe, where he focused his studies on poetry. Williams graduated with a “C” average. Despite not being a strong student in high school, Williams went on to study medicine at the University of Pennsylvania. It was there he met and became friends with Ezra Pound. The two remained life long friends.
Williams graduated in 1906 with his M.D. in Pediatrics and Obstetrics. In 1909 Williams published his first volume of poetry, “Poems,” in 1909. In 1910 he opened his own practice in his hometown of Rutherford New Jersey. Williams married Florence Herman in 1912. The couple had their first son William E. Williams in 1914, followed by their second son, Paul H. Williams, in 1917. His second volume of poetry, “The Tempers,” was published in 1913. Although Williams primary occupation was a family doctor, he published several volumes of poetry in throughout his life. These publications included, “Sour Grapes,” in 1921, “Spring and All,” in 1923. Followed by the publication of “An Early Martyr and Other Poems,” in 1935. The “Broken Span” was published in 1941, “The Wedge” in 1944. After that, Williams focused on a collection of books, “Paterson,” which were published book I, in 1946 Book II in 1948; Book III in 1949; Book IV in 1951 and Book V being published in 1958. William received the National Book Award in 1950.
In 1948 Williams suffered a heart attack which was followed by a series of strokes. This lead to Williams retiring from his medical practice. He than focused solely on his writing. In 1954 he published “The Desert Music and Other Poems, followed by “Journey to Love.” In 1962 he published “Pictures from Brueghel and Other Poems,” which he received the Pulitzer Prize for in 1963. William Carlos Williams died on March 4th, 1963.
Winter Trees
by William Carlos Williams
All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among
the long branches.
Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.
Willow Poem
by William Carlos Williams
It is a willow when summer is over,
a willow by the river
from which no leaf has fallen nor
bitten by the sun
turned orange or crimson.
The leaves cling and grow paler,
swing and grow paler
over the swirling waters of the river
as if loth to let go,
they are so cool, so drunk with
the swirl of the wind and of the river—
oblivious to winter,
the last to let go and fall
into the water and on the ground.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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Restless Memories
I walked along a path of stone,
heard a sparrow’s trilling tone.
The sun unseen, the air a mist --
the thoughts returned, would not desist.
‘Til I found you, my life was drifting,
path unsure, the sands were shifting.
You were sure and strong and charming,
altogether, quite disarming.
Yes, at first, we had it all,
so I did not foresee the fall.
But you became controlling, taunting.
To stay with you … so damned daunting!
At once, I felt my temples pulse
at the thought of your insults.
Then I heard my own voice echo
through the portico Art Deco.
On the marble, footstep taps …
someone following, perhaps?
No, just wishes left behind,
pestering my peace of mind.
I survived beyond my tears,
consoled by other souvenirs.
Now, when I recall your gaze,
it’s through a restless veil of haze.
FALLEN SOLDIER.
Taps are drifting on the wind
Echo off the mountain side
And again my gaze is pinned
On the valley deep and wide
For it's there his stone is set,
Now the tears begin to fall
And my pulse beats faster yet
As mist settles over all.
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Good luck to all 
