Wallace Stevens (October 2, 1879 – August 2, 1955 / Pennsylvania / United States)
Madame la Fleurie
Weight him down, O side-stars, with the great weightings of
Seal him there. He looked in a glass of the earth and thought
he lived in it.
Now, he brings all that he saw into the earth, to the waiting
His crisp knowledge is devoured by her, beneath a dew.
Weight him, weight, weight him with the sleepiness of the
It was only a glass because he looked in it. It was nothing he
could be told.
It was a language he spoke, because he must, yet did not know.
It was a page he had found in the handbook of heartbreak.
The black fugatos are strumming the blackness of black...
The thick strings stutter the finial gutturals.
He does not lie there remembering the blue-jay, say the jay.
His grief is that his mother should feed on him, himself and
what he saw,
In that distant chamber, a bearded queen, wicked in her dead
Wallace Stevens's Other Poems
- A Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock
- A High-Toned Old Christian Woman
- A Postcard From The Volcano
- A Rabbit As King Of The Ghosts
- Anecdote of the Jar
- Another Weeping Woman
- Bantams in Pine-woods
- Continual Conversation With A Silent Man
- Contrary Theses (II)
- Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock
- Domination Of Black
- Farewell To Florida
- Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour
- Frogs Eat Butterflies, Snakes Eat Frogs,...
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.