William De Witt Snodgrass
William De Witt Snodgrass Poems
|1.||Matisse: 'The Red Studio'||9/30/2015|
|2.||Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring (1 April 1945)||1/3/2012|
|3.||Vuillard: “the Mother And Sister Of The Artist”||1/3/2012|
|4.||The Campus On The Hill||1/3/2012|
|6.||The Poet Ridiculed By Hysterical Academics||1/3/2012|
|8.||Magda Goebbels (30 April 1945)||1/3/2012|
|9.||A Locked House||1/3/2012|
|10.||Who Steals My Good Name||1/3/2012|
|14.||After Experience Taught Me ...||1/3/2012|
|15.||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...
Sorting out letters and piles of my old
Canceled checks, old clippings, and yellow note cards
That meant something once, I happened to find
Your picture. That picture. I stopped there cold,
Like a man raking piles of dead leaves in his yard
Who has turned up a severed hand.
Still, that first second, I was glad: you stand
Just as you stood—shy, delicate, slender,