Philip Levine

(January 10, 1928 / Detroit, Michigan)

Philip Levine Poems

41. How Much Earth 1/13/2003
42. I Sing The Body Electric 1/13/2003
43. I Won, You Lost 1/13/2003
44. In A Light Time 1/13/2003
45. In A Vacant House 1/13/2003
46. Last Words 1/13/2003
47. Late Light 1/13/2003
48. Late Moon 1/13/2003
49. M. Degas Teaches Art &Amp; Science At Durfee Intermediate School--Detroit, 1942 1/13/2003
50. Mad Day In March 1/13/2003
51. Magpiety 1/13/2003
52. Making It Work 1/13/2003
53. Milkweed 1/13/2003
54. Montjuich 1/13/2003
55. My Fathers, The Baltic 1/13/2003
56. Night Thoughts Over A Sick Child 1/13/2003
57. Night Words 1/13/2003
58. Noon 1/13/2003
59. Ode For Mrs. William Settle 1/13/2003
60. On 52nd Street 1/10/2012
61. On The Meeting Of GarcÍA Lorca And Hart Crane 1/13/2003
62. On The Murder Of Lieutenant Jose Del Castillo 1/13/2003
63. Once 1/13/2003
64. Our Valley 1/10/2012
65. Passing Out 1/13/2003
66. Picture Postcard From The Other World 1/13/2003
67. Premonition At Twilight 1/13/2003
68. Red Dust 1/13/2003
69. Salts And Oils 1/13/2003
70. Sierra Kid 1/13/2003
71. Small Game 1/13/2003
72. Smoke 1/13/2003
73. Something Has Fallen 1/13/2003
74. Songs 1/13/2003
75. The Dead 1/13/2003
76. The Distant Winter 1/13/2003
77. The Drunkard 1/13/2003
78. The End Of Your Life 1/13/2003
79. The Grave Of The Kitchen Mouse 1/13/2003
80. The Helmet 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Philip Levine

A Sleepless Night

April, and the last of the plum blossoms
scatters on the black grass
before dawn. The sycamore, the lime,
the struck pine inhale
the first pale hints of sky.
An iron day,
I think, yet it will come
dazzling, the light
rise from the belly of leaves and pour
burning from the cups
of poppies.
The mockingbird squawks
from his perch, fidgets,
and settles back. The snail, awake
for good, trembles from his shell
and sets sail for China. My hand dances
in the memory of a million ...

Read the full of A Sleepless Night

My Fathers, The Baltic

Along the strand stones,
busted shells, wood scraps,
bottle tops, dimpled
and stainless beer cans.
Something began here
a century ago,
a nameless disaster,
perhaps a voyage
to the lost continent

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