Howard Nemerov

(29 February 1920 – 5 July 1991 / New York City, New York)

Howard Nemerov Poems

1. Political Reflection 6/19/2015
2. The Author To His Body On Their Fifteenth Birthday, 29 Ii 80 5/3/2012
3. Witnessing The Launch Of The Shuttle Atlantis 5/3/2012
4. The Painter Dreaming In The Scholar’s House 5/3/2012
5. The Consent 5/3/2012
6. The Town Dump 5/3/2012
7. To David, About His Education 5/3/2012
8. On An Occasion Of National Mourning 5/3/2012
9. The Murder Of William Remington 4/15/2010
10. Pockets 5/3/2012
11. The View From An Attic Window 4/15/2010
12. A Day On The Big Branch 5/3/2012
13. Magnitudes 5/3/2012
14. Found Poem 5/3/2012
15. Young Woman 4/15/2010
16. A Primer Of The Daily Round 5/3/2012
17. Lion & Honeycomb 5/3/2012
18. Life Cycle Of Common Man 5/3/2012
19. The Brief Journey West 4/15/2010
20. Writing 4/15/2010
21. To D—, Dead By Her Own Hand 4/15/2010
22. The Vacuum 4/15/2010
23. The Icehouse In Summer 4/15/2010
24. Money 4/15/2010
25. Threshold 1/13/2003
26. The War In The Air 4/15/2010
27. The Makers 1/3/2003
28. The Lobster 1/3/2003
29. The Beautiful Lawn Sprinkler 1/13/2003
30. The Dependencies 1/3/2003
31. Style 1/3/2003
32. Kicks 1/13/2003
33. Poetics 1/3/2003
34. Gyroscope 1/3/2003
35. Fugue 1/3/2003
36. Casting 1/3/2003
37. I Only Am Escaped Alone To Tell Thee 6/30/2003
38. Amateurs Of Heaven 1/3/2003
39. Walking The Dog 1/3/2003
40. The Host, He Says That All Is Well 4/15/2010
Best Poem of Howard Nemerov

Because You Asked About The Line Between Prose And Poetry

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.

There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.

Read the full of Because You Asked About The Line Between Prose And Poetry

Insomnia I

Some nights it's bound to be your best way out,
When nightmare is the short end of the stick,
When sleep is a part of town where it's not safe
To walk at night, when waking is the only way
You have of distancing your wretched dead,
A growing crowd, and escaping out of their
Time into yours for another little while;

Then pass ghostly, a planet in the house

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