The Young Housewife

AT ten A.M. the young housewife

moves about in negligee behind

the wooden walls of her husband's house.

I pass solitary in my car.

Then again she comes to the curb

to call the ice-man, fish-man, and stands

shy, uncorseted, tucking in

stray ends of hair, and I compare her

to a fallen leaf.

The noiseless wheels of my car

rush with a crackling sound over

dried leaves as I bow and pass smiling.

William Carlos Williams

Portrait of a Lady

YOUR thighs are appletrees

whose blossoms touch the sky.

Which sky? The sky

where Watteau hung a lady's

slipper. Your knees

are a southern breeze--or

a gust of snow. Agh! what

sort of man was Fragonard?

--as if that answered

anything. Ah, yes--below

the knees, since the tune

drops that way, it is

one of those white summer days,

the tall grass of your ankles

flickers upon the shore--

Which shore?--

the sand clings to my lips--

Which shore?

Agh, petals maybe. How

should I know?

Which shore? Which shore?

I said petals from an appletree.

William Carlos Williams

Danse Russe

IF when my wife is sleeping

and the baby and Kathleen

are sleeping

and the sun is a flame-white disc

in silken mists

above shining trees,--

if I in my north room

dance naked, grotesquely

before my mirror

waving my shirt round my head

and singing softly to myself:

"I am lonely, lonely.

I was born to be lonely,

I am best so!"

If I admire my arms, my face,

my shoulders, flanks, buttocks

against the yellow drawn shades,--

Who shall say I am not

the happy genius of my household?

William Carlos Williams

To Waken an Old Lady

OLD age is

a flight of small

cheeping birds

skimming

bare trees above a snow glaze.

Gaining and failing

they are buffeted

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.

William Carlos Williams

The Great Figure

AMONG the rain

and lights

I saw the figure 5

in gold

on a red

firetruck

moving tense

unheeded

to gong clangs

siren howls

and wheels rumbling

through the dark city.

William Carlos Williams

The Widow's Lament in Springtime

SORROW is my own yard

where the new grass

flames as it has flamed

often before but not

with the cold fire

that closes round me this year.

Thirtyfive years

I lived with my husband.

The plumtree is white today

with masses of flowers.

Masses of flowers

load the cherry branches

and color some bushes

yellow and some red

but the grief in my heart

is stronger than they

for though they were my joy

formerly, today I notice them

and turn away forgetting.

Today my son told me

that in the meadows,

at the edge of the heavy woods

in the distance, he saw

trees of white flowers.

I feel that I would like

to go there

and fall into those flowers

and sink into the marsh near them.

William Carlos Williams

Tract

I WILL teach you my townspeople

how to perform a funeral

for you have it over a troop

of artists--

unless one should scour the world--

you have the ground sense necessary.

See! the hearse leads.

I begin with a design for a hearse.

For Christ's sake not black--

nor white either--and not polished!

Let it be weathered--like a farm wagon--

with gilt wheels (this could be

applied fresh at small expense)

or no wheels at all:

a rough dray to drag over the ground.

Knock the glass out!

My God--glass, my townspeople!

For what purpose? Is it for the dead

to look out or for us to see

how well he is housed or to see

the flowers or the lack of them--

or what?

To keep the rain and snow fom him?

He will have a heavier rain soon:

pebbles and dirt and what not.

Let there be no glass--

and no upholstery, phew!

and no little brass rollers

and small easy wheels on the bottom--

my townspeople what are you thinking of?

A rough plain hearse then

with gilt wheels and no top at all.

On this the coffin lies

by its own weight.

                     No wreaths please--

especially no hot house flowers.

Some common memento is better,

something he prized and is known by:

his old clothes--a few books perhaps--

God knows what! You realize

how we are about these things

my townspeople--

something will be found--anything

even flowers if he had come to that.

So much for the hearse.

For heaven's sake though see to the driver!

Take off the silk hat! In fact

that's no place at all for him--

up there unceremoniously

dragging our friend out to his own dignity!

Bring him down--bring him down!

Low and inconspicuous! I'd not have him ride

on the wagon at all--damn him--

the undertaker's understrapper!

Let him hold the reins

and walk at the side

and inconspicuously too!

Then briefly as to yourselves:

Walk behind--as they do in france,

seventh class, or if you ride

Hell take curtains! Go with some show

of inconvenience; sit openly--

to the weather as to grief.

Or do you think you can shut grief in?

What--from us? We who have perhaps

nothing to lose? Share with us

share with us--it will be money

in your pockets.

Go now

I think you are ready.

William Carlos Williams

Queen Anne's Lace

HER body is not so white as

anemone petals nor so smooth--nor

so remote a thing. It is a field

of the wild carrot taking

thefield by force; the grass

does not raise above it.

Here is no question of whiteness,

white as can be, with a purple mole

at the center of each flower.

Each flower is a hand's span

of her whiteness. Wherever

his hand has lain there is

a tiny purple blossom under his touch

to which the fibres of her being

stem one by one, each to its end,

until the whole field is a

white desire, empty, a single stem,

a cluster, flower by flower,

a pious wish to whiteness gone over--

or nothing.

William Carlos Williams

Pastoral

WHEN I was younger

it was plain to me

I must make something of myself.

Older now

I walk back streets

admiring the houses

of the very poor:

roof out of line with sides

the yards cluttered

with old chicken wire, ashes,

furniture gone wrong;

the fences and outhouses

built of barrel staves

and parts of boxes, all,

if I am fortunate,

smeared a bluish green

that properly weathered

pleases me best of all colors.

No one

will believe this

of vast import to the nation.

William Carlos Williams