Poem by Wallace Stevens

Poetry Is a Destructive Force

That's what misery is,
Nothing to have at heart.
It is to have or nothing.

It is a thing to have,
A lion, an ox in his breast,
To feel it breathing there.

Corazón, stout dog,
Young ox, bow-legged bear,
He tastes its blood, not spit.

He is like a man
In the body of a violent beast.
Its muscles are his own . . .

The lion sleeps in the sun.
Its nose is on its paws.
It can kill a man.

1. Phases
2. Anecdote of the Prince of Peacocks
3. Two Figures in Dense Violet Light
4. It Must Give Pleasure
5. Study of Two Pears

Print

1602 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version