William F Dougherty
William F. Dougherty, Ph.D., has published two books of poetry and served as a newspaper editor, critic, lecturer, reviewer, and speechwriter. He wrote his master's thesis on W. B. Yeats at Central Connecticut State University and his doctoral dissertation on Wallace Stevens for his PhD from the University of Connecticut.
Dr. Dougherty has taught courses at Central Connecticut University, University of Connecticut, University of Hartford, Teikyo-Post University, Manchester Community College, and Eastern Connecticut State University.
He has published poems in The Wallace Stevens Review, North American Review,
Descant, Forum (Houston) , Romantics Quarterly, The ... more »
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William F Dougherty Poems
Wallace Stevens: The Click of Marbled Or...
(Sonnet as Keynote to WS) The stout man puffs on his Havana cigar And picks canary chords on his blue guitar,
(For Cynthia Ann Dougherty) Towing your tattered doll, you would fetch your storybook
[from the Crab Sonnets] They sank a silver zipper in my chest: a foot of snag-toothed staples used to chain
A Roman Sentry's Friday Duty
A soldier's curse is not the copper pay, stationed here in this gods-forsaken place! I'd bribe a centurion to leave today.
The unction cools my brow; the candle shines and braids a line of sacramental brede; the priest half-chants the text, and makes the signs, jogging my mind with the redemptive creed
The archived rite returns in gothic gray: a bruise-dark sky, a blunt and tugging rain, a sheen of black umbrellas, spaded clay. The camera obscura, mind, ingrains
September 11 (See New Revision)
I slouch into my class, bowed by the brute, apocalyptic shock. No student's eyes forsake the glowing screen; the sound is mute. Their center, Yeats's vatic lines forewarn, flies
Churning in a spiral shell, a monotone of waves rolls from a mouth of opal into memory’s caves
[Moodpomes: Calendar of Correlatives] Chalks of birch lambent, lean
A Promise to Keep (Update.)
Words are for those with promises to keep. — W.H. Auden I promised her the garden's glory: marigold's monarchal blooms,
Sunday Is Visiting Day
The parking lot is full, but not for me- Churchgoing first, and then visiting day. Perhaps a glove is lost, perhaps a key: Something, some other annulling delay,
I traced his tracks in crunching snow, printed crisply under the solemn pines: they left a trail like doubt in doubt— shuffling in murk, as if for signs.
The Glass in the Glass
Mocked by a carnival mirror, a contortion cruel as doubt, I wrecked the woozy image: a snicker clinked out.
The mole catacombed under dripping roots, gnawing grubs like clustered shrimp, pulpy white dangling in gloom. In the oak, patient hoots
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Wallace Stevens: The Click of Marbled Orbs
(Sonnet as Keynote to WS)
The stout man puffs on his Havana cigar
And picks canary chords on his blue guitar,
Fashions flawed words and spindrift sounds
Into day-glow verbs and glass-blown nouns.
How much the notion of a supreme fiction
Derives from bric-a-brac and spiffy diction
None knows. Say his thickest absolutes
Derive from blue rotundities of fruits:
His crispest jugglery performs the feat
Of hardening stealthy points into concrete
Trombones, sausage-makers, cattle skulls,
And pettifogging buds. His monocle's
Univocal, a prop ...