Marianne Moore Poems
|2.||Nine Nectarines And Other Porcelain||2/11/2015|
|3.||What Are Years||3/12/2015|
|4.||To An Intra-Mural Rat||4/15/2010|
|9.||He "Digesteth Harde Yron"||1/20/2003|
|11.||The Paper Nautilus||1/3/2003|
|13.||No Swan So Fine||1/3/2003|
|16.||To A Steam Roller||1/3/2003|
|17.||Baseball And Writing||1/20/2003|
|18.||The Past Is The Present||1/3/2003|
|20.||He Made This Screen||1/3/2003|
I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one
it after all, a place for the genuine.
Hands that can grasp, eyes
that can dilate, hair that can rise
if it must, these things are important not because a
high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because
useful. When they become so derivative as to become
the same thing may be said for all of us, that we
do not admire what
we cannot understand: the ...
Fragments of sin are a part of me.
New brooms shall sweep clean the heart of me.
Shall they? Shall they?
When this light life shall have passed away,
God shall redeem me, a castaway.
Shall He? Shall He?