Russell Edson

(1935 - 2014 / Connecticut, United States)

Russell Edson Poems

1. The Bridge 1/13/2003
2. The Closet 1/13/2003
3. The Changeling 1/13/2003
4. The Lighted Window 1/13/2003
5. The Ox 1/13/2003
6. The Death Of A Fly 1/13/2003
7. The Man Rock 1/13/2003
8. The Theory 1/13/2003
9. The Gentlemen In The Meadow 1/13/2003
10. The Road 1/13/2003
11. The Sad Message 1/13/2003
12. The Alfresco Moment 1/13/2003
13. The Pattern 1/13/2003
14. The Position 1/13/2003
15. The Wounded Breakfast 1/13/2003
16. The Father Of Toads 1/13/2003
17. The Tree 1/13/2003
18. The Melting 1/13/2003
19. The Having To Love Something Else 1/13/2003
20. Soup Song 1/13/2003
21. The Rat's Tight Schedule 1/13/2003
22. The Autopsy 1/13/2003
23. The Reason Why The Closet-Man Is Never Sad 1/13/2003
24. The Marionettes Of Distant Masters 1/13/2003
25. The Family Monkey 1/13/2003
26. The Pilot 1/13/2003
27. Grass 1/13/2003
28. The Floor 1/13/2003
29. Erasing Amyloo 1/13/2003
30. The Toy-Maker 1/13/2003
31. The Breast 1/13/2003
32. Paying The Captain 1/13/2003
33. The Philosophers 1/13/2003
34. Conjugal 1/13/2003
35. Mr. Brain 1/13/2003
36. Vomit 1/13/2003
37. Angels 1/13/2003
38. Elephant Dormitory 1/13/2003
39. The Fall 1/13/2003
40. Ape And Coffee 1/13/2003

Comments about Russell Edson

  • Chris Bowen (1/27/2008 11:17:00 AM)

    i like russell edson prose sometimes, does he visit this site?

    16 person liked.
    27 person did not like.
Best Poem of Russell Edson

One Lonely Afternoon

Since the fern can't go to the sink for a drink of
water, I graciously submit myself to the task, bringing two
glasses from the sink.
And so we sit, the fern and I, sipping water together.


Of course I'm more complex than a fern, full of deep
thoughts as I am. But I lay this aside for the easy company
of an afternoon friendship.

I don't mind sipping water with a fern, even though,
had I my druthers, I'd be speeding through the sky for
Stockholm, sipping a bloody mary with a wedge of lime.

And so we sit one lonely afternoon sipping ...

Read the full of One Lonely Afternoon

The Bridge

In his travels he comes to a bridge made entirely of bones.
Before crossing he writes a letter to his mother: Dear mother,
guess what? the ape accidentally bit off one of his hands while
eating a banana. Just now I am at the foot of a bone bridge. I
shall be crossing it shortly. I don't know if I shall find hills and
valleys made of flesh on the other side, or simply constant
night, villages of sleep. The ape is scolding me for not teaching
him better. I am letting him wear my pith

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