Howard Nemerov

(29 February 1920 – 5 July 1991 / New York City, New York)

Howard Nemerov Poems

1. A Day On The Big Branch 5/3/2012
2. A Life 1/3/2003
3. A Primer Of The Daily Round 5/3/2012
4. A Spell Before Winter 1/3/2003
5. Amateurs Of Heaven 1/3/2003
6. Because You Asked About The Line Between Prose And Poetry 1/3/2003
7. Casting 1/3/2003
8. Found Poem 5/3/2012
9. Fugue 1/3/2003
10. Gyroscope 1/3/2003
11. I Only Am Escaped Alone To Tell Thee 6/30/2003
12. Insomnia I 1/3/2003
13. Kicks 1/13/2003
14. Learning By Doing 1/3/2003
15. Learning The Trees 1/3/2003
16. Life Cycle Of Common Man 5/3/2012
17. Lion & Honeycomb 5/3/2012
18. Magnitudes 5/3/2012
19. Money 4/15/2010
20. On An Occasion Of National Mourning 5/3/2012
21. Pockets 5/3/2012
22. Poetics 1/3/2003
23. Political Reflection 6/19/2015
24. September, The First Day Of School 1/13/2003
25. Storm Windows 1/3/2003
26. Style 1/3/2003
27. The Author To His Body On Their Fifteenth Birthday, 29 Ii 80 5/3/2012
28. The Beautiful Lawn Sprinkler 1/13/2003
29. The Blue Swallows 1/3/2003
30. The Brief Journey West 4/15/2010
31. The Consent 5/3/2012
32. The Dependencies 1/3/2003
33. The Goose Fish 1/3/2003
34. The Host, He Says That All Is Well 4/15/2010
35. The Icehouse In Summer 4/15/2010
36. The Lobster 1/3/2003
37. The Makers 1/3/2003
38. The Murder Of William Remington 4/15/2010
39. The Painter Dreaming In The Scholar’s House 5/3/2012
40. The Town Dump 5/3/2012
Best Poem of Howard Nemerov

Because You Asked About The Line Between Prose And Poetry

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.

There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.

Read the full of Because You Asked About The Line Between Prose And Poetry

Insomnia I

Some nights it's bound to be your best way out,
When nightmare is the short end of the stick,
When sleep is a part of town where it's not safe
To walk at night, when waking is the only way
You have of distancing your wretched dead,
A growing crowd, and escaping out of their
Time into yours for another little while;

Then pass ghostly, a planet in the house

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