Muriel Rukeyser

(December 15, 1913 – February 12, 1980 / New York City)

Muriel Rukeyser Poems

1. Song 10/16/2015
2. From A Play: Publisher's Song 12/15/2011
3. George Robinson: Blues 12/15/2011
4. Waterlily Fire 12/15/2011
5. Night Feeding 12/15/2011
6. [murmurs From The Earth Of This Land] 12/15/2011
7. Ajanta 4/22/2010
8. Haying Before Storm 4/22/2010
9. Akiba 12/15/2011
10. Seventh Avenue 12/15/2011
11. 26-1-1939 12/15/2011
12. Painters 12/15/2011
13. Gauley Bridge 12/15/2011
14. Poem 12/15/2011
15. Absalom 12/15/2011
16. Orgy 12/15/2011
17. Then I Saw What The Calling Was 12/15/2011
18. Metaphor To Action 12/15/2011
19. Drunken Girl 12/15/2011
20. The Road 12/15/2011
21. Despisals 12/15/2011
22. The Speaking Tree 12/15/2011
23. The Disease 12/15/2011
24. The Poem As Mask 12/15/2011
25. The Conjugation Of The Paramecium 1/20/2003
26. Elegy In Joy 12/15/2011
27. Waiting For Icarus 12/15/2011
28. Reading Time: 1 Minute 26 Seconds 12/15/2011
29. The Book Of The Dead 12/15/2011
30. Myth 12/15/2011
31. St. Roach 1/20/2003
32. Boy With His Hair Cut Short 4/22/2010

Comments about Muriel Rukeyser

There is no comment submitted by members..
Best Poem of Muriel Rukeyser

Boy With His Hair Cut Short

SUNDAY shuts down on this twentieth-century evening.
The L passes. Twilight and bulb define
the brown room, the overstuffed plum sofa,
the boy, and the girl's thin hands above his head.
A neighbor radio sings stocks, news, serenade.

He sits at the table, head down, the young clear neck exposed,
watching the drugstore sign from the tail of his eye;
tattoo, neon, until the eye blears, while his
solicitous tall sister, simple in blue, bending
behind him, cuts his hair with her cheap shears.

The arrow's electric red always reaches its mark,
successful neon!...

Read the full of Boy With His Hair Cut Short

St. Roach

For that I never knew you, I only learned to dread you,
for that I never touched you, they told me you are filth,
they showed me by every action to despise your kind;
for that I saw my people making war on you,
I could not tell you apart, one from another,
for that in childhood I lived in places clear of you,
for that all the people I knew met you by
crushing you, stamping you to death, they poured boiling
water on you, they flushed you down,

[Report Error]