The Idiot
With green stagnant eyes, arms and legs loose ends of string in a wind, keep smiling at your father.
From Rhythms II, published in 1919. This poem is in the public domain.
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A white curtain turning in an open window.
A swan, dipping a white neck in the trees’ shadow,
Hardly beating the water with golden feet.
Sorrow before her
Was gone like noise from a street,
Snow falling.
1927
The stars are hidden,
the lights are out;
the tall black houses
are ranked about.
I beat my fists
on the stout doors,
no answering steps
come down the floors.
1927
The city breaks in houses to the sea, uneasy with waves,
And the lonely sun clashes like brass cymbals.
In the streets truck-horses, muscles sliding under the steaming hides,
Pound the sparks flying about their hooves;
And fires, those gorgeous beasts, squirm in the furnaces,
Under the looms weaving us.
1920