Charles Simic

(1938 / Belgrade)

Charles Simic Poems

1. Pigeons at Dawn 6/18/2015
2. Empire of Dreams 11/23/2015
3. Old Couple 6/23/2017
4. Past-Lives Therapy 6/23/2017
5. Prodigy 6/23/2017
6. Puppet-Maker 6/23/2017
7. Tapestry 6/23/2017
8. Watch Repair 6/23/2017
9. "I am the last . . ." 6/23/2017
10. Fork 6/23/2017
11. The Friends of Heraclitus 6/23/2017
12. Charon's Cosmology 6/23/2017
13. Concerning My Neighbors, the Hittites 6/23/2017
14. Eastern European Cooking 6/24/2017
15. In the Library 6/24/2017
16. This Morning 6/24/2017
17. The Writings of the Mystics 6/24/2017
18. My Weariness of Epic Proportions 6/24/2017
19. Against Whatever It Is That's Encroaching 6/24/2017
20. Evening Walk 6/24/2017
21. Labor and Capital 6/24/2017
22. The Empress 6/24/2017
23. So Early in the Morning 6/24/2017
24. A Letter 6/24/2017
25. Stone 6/24/2017
26. Classic Ballroom Dances 6/24/2017
27. The Stray 6/23/2017
28. Nancy Jane 6/23/2017
29. Night Music 6/24/2017
30. On this Very Street in Belgrade 5/16/2015
31. My Shoes 5/25/2015
32. Mirrors At 4 A.M 4/6/2015
33. Secret History 3/17/2015
34. The Melon 11/17/2015
35. Autumn Sky 4/28/2015
36. Crazy About Her Shrimp 12/15/2014
37. The Wooden Toy 1/13/2003
38. The White Room 1/13/2003
39. The Something 1/13/2003
40. Pocket Theatre 1/13/2003

Comments about Charles Simic

  • Mirjana Spasojevic Tinkovich (3/18/2018 7:25:00 PM)

    I am poet and I am from Belgrade, and I live through II world war - my dear brother Charles = I was born 1935. Big solut-hello. Mirjana-Arizona

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  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (3/5/2016 5:34:00 AM)

    a translation into Italian of the poem 'Meet Eddie' by Charles Simic:

    'Meet Eddie'


    Che ha una vita felice come una lattina di birra
    che precipita a valle lungo un torrente,
    che gira alla larga da alcune rocce
    mentre sbatte a capofitto contro altre,

    e che si lancia un un vortice da far girare la testa
    come una bambina sullo sgabello di un pianoforte,
    con l’acqua che urla al suo rapido passare:
    Sei pronto ad affrontare il tuo Creatore?

    E il bosco attorno comincia a sfoltirsi
    e agli alberi si rizzano i capelli in testa
    mentre lui si prepara ad affrontare le cascate
    come un cieco legato alla sua fisarmonica.

    (Charles Simic - poem tramslated by Damiano Abeni e Moira Egan)

  • Neal Davies (1/18/2015 6:15:00 PM)

    Simic is one of my desert island poets...I've esteemed him with the best of 20th century
    poets. I was surprised to learn he became laureate...guess I figured he was too good to be
    honored by the US Government. Growing up under Nazi occupation would tend to attune
    one to the eerie and fantastic. Always a plate of wilted mushrooms served by a
    one legged dancer....a cornucopia of corn...nbd

  • Adnana Karahasanovic Zeljkovic (5/26/2010 3:58:00 AM)

    Aren't we all your metaphor of a meek sheep with dark truth under our eyelids? And what are we going to do about it? / Hamlet's dilemma or waiting for Godo... Isn't all our life about it?

  • John Paisley (8/5/2007 1:10:00 PM)

    Simic got the poet laureate job the other day. I never heard of him before. Some poet. So I been checking him out on the web. Reading his stuff. He has an interview where he quips. He might be a funny guy. Likes jazz. I might like him but first I need to pick him apart.

Best Poem of Charles Simic

Against Winter

The truth is dark under your eyelids.
What are you going to do about it?
The birds are silent; there's no one to ask.
All day long you'll squint at the gray sky.
When the wind blows you'll shiver like straw.

A meek little lamb you grew your wool
Till they came after you with huge shears.
Flies hovered over open mouth,
Then they, too, flew off like the leaves,
The bare branches reached after them in vain.

Winter coming. Like the last heroic soldier
Of a defeated army, you'll stay at your post,
Head bared to the first snow flake.
Till a neighbor ...

Read the full of Against Winter

Pocket Theatre

Fingers in an overcoat pocket. Fingers sticking out of a black leather glove. The nails chewed raw. One play is called "Thieves' Market," another "Night in a Dime Museum." The fingers when they strip are like bewitching nude bathers or the fake wooden limbs in a cripple factory. No one ever sees the play: you put your hand in somebody else's pocket

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