William De Witt Snodgrass
William De Witt Snodgrass Poems
|1.||Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring (1 April 1945)||1/3/2012|
|2.||Vuillard: “the Mother And Sister Of The Artist”||1/3/2012|
|3.||The Campus On The Hill||1/3/2012|
|5.||The Poet Ridiculed By Hysterical Academics||1/3/2012|
|7.||Magda Goebbels (30 April 1945)||1/3/2012|
|8.||A Locked House||1/3/2012|
|9.||Who Steals My Good Name||1/3/2012|
|13.||After Experience Taught Me ...||1/3/2012|
|14.||Monet: “les Nymphéas”||1/3/2012|
The green catalpa tree has turned
All white; the cherry blooms once more.
In one whole year I haven't learned
A blessed thing they pay you for.
The blossoms snow down in my hair;
The trees and I will soon be bare.
The trees have more than I to spare.
The sleek, expensive girls I teach,
Younger and pinker every year,
Bloom gradually out of reach.
The pear tree lets its petals drop
Like dandruff on a tabletop.
The girls have grown so young by now
I have to nudge myself to stare.
This year they smile and mind me how
My teeth are falling with my...
These lawn chairs and the chaise lounge
of bulky redwood were purchased for my father
twenty years ago, then plumped down in the yard
where he seldom went when he could still work
and never had stayed long. His left arm
in a sling, then lopped off, he smoked there or slept
while the weather lasted, watched what cars passed,
read stock reports, counted pills,
then dozed again. I didn’t go there