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Anecdote of Canna

Huge are the canna in the dreams of
X, the mighty thought, the mighty man.
They fill the terrace of his capitol.

His thought sleeps not. Yet thought that wakes
In sleep may never meet another thought
Or thing....Now day-break comes...

X promenades the dewy stones,
Observes the canna with a clinging eye,
Observes and then continues to observe.

Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)


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¥¦¥©¡¼¥ê¥¹¡¦¥¹¥Æ¥£¡¼¥Ö¥ó¥¹(1879-1955)

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¤½¤ì¤è¤ê¤âº£Ä«¤Î»×¤¤¤¬¤±¤Ì¼ý³Ï¤Ï Virginia Frances Sterrett ¤È¤¤¤¦¥¢¥á¥ê¥«¤Î½÷À­¤ÎÁÞ³¨¡£Ë̵þ¥ª¥Ú¥é¤ÎÉñÂæ¤Ç¡¢¥Ð¥É¥ë¡¦¥¢¥ë¡¦¥Ö¥º¥ëɱ¤¬¡Ö¤¢¤¢¡¢¥¢¥é¥Ç¥£¥ó¡¢¥¢¥é¥Ç¥£¥ó¡¢¤É¤¦¤·¤Æ¤¢¤Ê¤¿¤Ï¥¢¥é¥Ç¥£¥ó¤Ê¤Î¡©¡×¤È¤Ä¤Ö¤ä¤¤¤Æ¤¤¤ë¡£


The Worms at Heaven's Gate

Out of the tomb, we bring Badroulbadour,
Within our bellies, we her chariot.
Here is an eye. And here are, one by one,
The lashes of that eye and its white lid.
Here is the cheek on which that lid declined,
And, finger after finger, here, the hand,
The genius of that cheek. Here are the lips,
The bundle of the body and the feet.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Out of the tomb we bring Badroulbadour.

Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)


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¥¦¥©¥ê¥¹¡¦¥¹¥Æ¥£¡¼¥Ö¥ó¥¹(1879-1955)

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Contrary Theses (II)

One chemical afternoon in mid-autumn,
When the grand mechanics of earth and sky were near;
Even the leaves of the locust were yellow then,

He walked with his year-old boy on his shoulder.
The sun shone and the dog barked and the baby slept.
The leaves, even of the locust, the green locust.

He wanted and looked for a final refuge,
From the bombastic intimations of winter
And the martyrs a la mode. He walked toward

An abstract, of which the sun, the dog, the boy
Were contours. Cold was chilling the wide-moving swans.
The leaves were falling like notes from a piano.

The abstract was suddenly there and gone again.
The negroes were playing football in the park.
The abstract that he saw, like the locust-leaves, plainly:

The premiss from which all things were conclusions,
The noble, Alexandrine verve. The flies
And the bees still sought the chrysanthemums¡Ç odor.

Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)


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¥¦¥©¡¼¥ê¥¹¡¦¥¹¥Æ¥£¡¼¥Ö¥ó¥¹(1879-1955)

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Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

Wallace Stevens (1879 –1955)


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XIII

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¥¦¥©¡¼¥ê¥¹¡¦¥¹¥Æ¥£¡¼¥Ö¥ó¥¹(1879 –1955)

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Anecdote of the Jar

I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.

The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.

It took dominion everywhere.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.

Wallace Stevens (1879 – 1955)


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¥¦¥©¥ê¥¹¡¦¥¹¥Æ¥£¡¼¥Ö¥ó¥¹(1879 – 1955)

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