Philip Levine

(January 10, 1928 / Detroit, Michigan)

Philip Levine Poems

1. A Sleepless Night 1/13/2003
2. A Story 1/10/2012
3. A Woman Waking 1/13/2003
4. Among Children 1/13/2003
5. An Abandoned Factory, Detroit 1/13/2003
6. An Ending 1/13/2003
7. An Extraordinary Morning 1/10/2012
8. And The Trains Go On 12/26/2014
9. Animals Are Passing From Our Lives 1/13/2003
10. Another Song 1/13/2003
11. Any Night 1/13/2003
12. At Bessemer 1/13/2003
13. Baby Villon 1/10/2012
14. Belle Isle, 1949 1/10/2012
15. Berenda Slough 1/13/2003
16. Bitterness 1/13/2003
17. Black Stone On Top Of Nothing 1/13/2003
18. Blasting From Heaven 1/10/2012
19. Breakfasts With Joachim 6/25/2014
20. Burial Rites 1/10/2012
21. Call It Music 1/13/2003
22. Clouds 1/13/2003
23. Clouds Above The Sea 1/13/2003
24. Coming Close 1/13/2003
25. Detroit Grease Shop Poem 1/13/2003
26. Detroit, Tomorrow 1/10/2012
27. Drum 1/10/2012
28. During The War 1/10/2012
29. Everything 1/13/2003
30. Father 1/13/2003
31. Fist 1/13/2003
32. For The Country 1/13/2003
33. Gangrene 1/13/2003
34. Gin 1/13/2003
35. Gospel 1/10/2012
36. Green Thumb 1/13/2003
37. Heaven 1/13/2003
38. Holding On 1/13/2003
39. Holy Day 1/13/2003
40. House Of Silence 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Philip Levine

An Abandoned Factory, Detroit

The gates are chained, the barbed-wire fencing stands,
An iron authority against the snow,
And this grey monument to common sense
Resists the weather. Fears of idle hands,
Of protest, men in league, and of the slow
Corrosion of their minds, still charge this fence.

Beyond, through broken windows one can see
Where the great presses paused between their strokes
And thus remain, in air suspended, caught
In the sure margin of eternity.
The cast-iron wheels have stopped; one counts the spokes
Which movement blurred, the struts inertia fought, ...

Read the full of An Abandoned Factory, Detroit

Mad Day In March

Beaten like an old hound
Whimpering by the stove,
I complicate the pain
That smarts with promised love.
The oilstove falls, the rain,
Forecast, licks at my wound;
Ice forms, clips the green shoot,
And strikes the wren house mute.

[Report Error]