The Dover Anthology of American Literature Volume II (91 page)

To
a Solitary Disciple
(1917)

                
Rather notice, mon cher,

                
that the moon is

                
tilted above

                
the point of the steeple

                
than that its color

                
is shell-pink.

                
Rather observe

                
that it is early morning

                
than that the sky

                
is smooth

                
as a turquoise.

                
Rather
grasp

                
how the dark

                
converging lines

                
of the steeple

                
meet at the pinnacle—

                
perceive how

                
its little ornament

                
tries to stop them—

                
See how it fails!

                
See how the converging lines

                
of the hexagonal spire

                
escape upward—

                
receding, dividing!

                
—sepals

                
that guard and contain

                
the flower!

                
Observe

                
how motionless

                
the eaten moon

                
lies in the protecting lines.

                
It is true:

                
in the light colors

                
of morning

                
brown-stone and slate

                
shine orange and dark blue.

                
But observe

                
the oppressive weight

                
of the squat edifice!

                
Observe

                
the jasmine lightness

                
of the moon.

S
OURCE:
William Carlos Williams.
Al Que Quiere!
Boston: The Four Seas Company, 1917.

Dedication
for a Plot of Ground
(1917)

            
This plot of ground

            
facing the waters of this inlet

            
is dedicated to the living presence of

            
Emily Richardson Wellcome

            
who was born in England; married;

            
lost her husband and with

            
her five year old son

            
sailed for New York in a two-master;

            
was driven to the Azores;

            
ran adrift on Fire Island shoal,

            
met her second husband

            
in a Brooklyn boarding house,

            
went with him to Puerto Rico

            
bore three more children, lost

            
her second husband, lived hard

            
for eight years in St. Thomas,

            
Puerto Rico, San Domingo, followed

            
the oldest son to New York,

            
lost her daughter, lost her “baby,”

            
seized the two boys of

            
the oldest son by the second marriage

            
mothered them—they being

            
motherless—fought for them

            
against the other grandmother

            
and the aunts, brought them here

            
summer after summer, defended

            
herself here against thieves,

            
storms, sun, fire,

            
against flies, against girls

            
that came smelling about, against

            
drought, against weeds, storm-tides,

            
neighbors, weasles that stole her chickens,

            
against the weakness of her own hands,

            
against the growing strength of

            
the boys, against wind, against

            
the stones, against trespassers,

            
against rents, against her own mind.

            
She
grubbed this earth with her own hands,

            
domineered over this grass plot,

            
blackguarded her oldest son

            
into buying it, lived here fifteen years,

            
attained a final loneliness and—

            
If you can bring nothing to this place

            
but your carcass, keep out.

S
OURCE:
William Carlos Williams.
Al Que Quiere!
Boston: The Four Seas Company, 1917.

Le
Médicin Malgré Lui
(1918)

                
Oh I suppose I should

                
Wash the walls of my office,

                
Polish the rust from

                
My instruments and keep them

                
Definitely in order;

                
Build shelves in

                
The little laboratory;

                
Empty out the old stains,

                
Clean the bottles

                
And refill them; buy

                
Another lens; put

                
My journals on edge instead of

                
Letting them lie flat

                
In heaps—then begin

                
Ten years back and

                
Gradually

                
Read them to date,

                
Cataloguing important

                
Articles for ready reference.

                
I suppose I should

                
Read the new books.

                
If to this I added

                
A bill at the tailor's

                
And the cleaner's

                
And grew a decent beard

                
And
cultivated a look

                
Of importance—

                
Who can tell? I might be

                
A credit to my Lady Happiness

                
And never think anything

                
But a white thought!

S
OURCE:
Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.
July 1918.

To
Mark Anthony in Heaven
(1920)

                
This quiet morning light

                
reflected, how many times!

                
from grass and trees and clouds

                
enters my north room

                
touching the walls with

                
grass and clouds and trees,

                
Anthony,

                
trees and grass and clouds.

                
Why did you follow

                
that beloved body

                
with your ships at Actium?

                
I hope it was because

                
you knew her inch by inch

                
from slanting feet upward

                
to the roots of her hair

                
and down again and that

                
you saw her

                
above the battle's fury

                
reflecting—

                
clouds and trees and grass

                
for then

                
you are listening in heaven.

S
OURCE:
The Little Review
. January 1920.

To
Waken an Old Lady
(1921)

                            
Old age is

                            
a flight of small

                            
cheeping birds

                            
skimming

                            
bare trees

                            
above a snow glaze.

                            
Gaining and failing

                            
they are buffetted

                            
by a dark wind—

                            
But what?

                            
On harsh weedstalks

                            
the flock has rested,

                            
the snow

                            
is covered with broken

                            
seedhusks

                            
and the wind tempered

                            
by a shrill

                            
piping of plenty.

S
OURCE:
William Carlos Williams.
Sour Grapes
. Boston: The Four Seas Company, 1921.

Complaint
(1921)

                        
They call me and I go

                        
It is a frozen road

                        
past midnight, a dust

                        
of snow caught

                        
in the rigid wheeltracks.

                        
The door opens.

                        
I smile, enter and