Malcolm Cowley Poems
- Blue Juniata Farmhouses curl like horns of plenty, ...
- Eight Melons August and on the vine eight melons ...
- The Long Voyage NOT that the pines were darker there, nor ...
- Poilus Regiments at a time pass through our village And, ...
- We Had Great Argument After a tardy sun had set We four ...
- Stone Horse Shoals 'TO wade the sea-mist, then to wade the ...
- Ballad Of French Service No more to stroll for half a ...
Malcolm Cowley (August 24, 1898 – March 27, 1989) was an American novelist, poet, literary critic, and journalist.
Born August 28, 1898 in Western Pennsylvania, Cowley grew up in Pittsburgh, where his father William was a homeopathic doctor. He graduated from Peabody High School where his friend Kenneth Burke was also a student. in 1920 he earned a B.A. from Harvard University.
He interrupted his undergraduate studies to join the American Field Service in France during World War I. From the Western Front he reported on the war for The Pittsburgh Gazette (today's Pittsburgh Post-Gazette).
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Comments about Malcolm Cowley
Farmhouses curl like horns of plenty, hide
scrawny bare shanks against a barn, or crouch
empty in the shadow of a mountain. Here
there is no house at all—
only the bones of a house,
lilacs growing beside them,
roses in clumps between them,
a gap for a door, a chimney
mud-chinked, an immense fireplace,
the skeleton of a pine,
and gandy dancers working on the rails
that run not thirty yards from the once door.
I heard a gandy dancer playing on a jew's harp
Where is now that merry party I remember long ago?
Nelly was a ...