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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537420" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Romance Moderne</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tracks of rain and light linger in <br>the spongy greens of a nature whose <br>flickering mountain--bulging nearer, <br>ebbing back into the sun <br>hollowing itself away to hold a lake,-- <br>or brown stream rising and falling at the roadside, turning about, <br>churning itself white, drawing <br>green in over it,--plunging glassy funnels <br>fall-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And--the other world-- <br>the windshield a blunt barrier: <br>Talk to me. Sh! they would hear us. <br>--the backs of their heads facing us-- <br>The stream continues its motion of <br>a hound running over rough ground. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Trees vanish--reappear--vanish: <br>detached dance of gnomes--as a talk <br>dodging remarks, glows and fades. <br>--The unseen power of words-- <br>And now that a few of the moves <br>are clear the first desire is <br>to fling oneself out at the side into <br>the other dance, to other music. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Peer Gynt. Rip Van Winkle. Diana. <br>If I were young I would try a new alignment-- <br>alight nimbly from the car, Good-bye!-- <br>Childhood companions linked two and two <br>criss-cross: four, three, two, one. <br>Back into self, tentacles withdrawn. <br>Feel about in warm self-flesh. <br>Since childhood, since childhood! <br>Childhood is a toad in the garden, a <br>happy toad. All toads are happy <br>and belong in gardens. A toad to Diana! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lean forward. Punch the steerman <br>behind the ear. Twirl the wheel! <br>Over the edge! Screams! Crash! <br>The end. I sit above my head-- <br>a little removed--or <br>a thin wash of rain on the roadway <br>--I am never afraid when he is driving,-- <br>interposes new direction, <br>rides us sidewise, unforseen <br>into the ditch! All threads cut! <br>Death! Black. The end. The very end-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I would sit separate weighing a <br>small red handful: the dirt of these parts, <br>sliding mists sheeting the alders <br>against the touch of fingers creeping <br>to mine. All stuff of the blind emotions. <br>But--stirred, the eye seizes <br>for the first time--The eye awake!-- <br>anything, a dirt bank with green stars <br>of scrawny weed flattened upon it under <br>a weight of air--For the first time!-- <br>or a yawning depth: Big! <br>Swim around in it, through it-- <br>all directions and find <br>vitreous seawater stuff-- <br>God how I love you!--or, as I say, <br>a plunge into the ditch. The End. I sit <br>examining my red handful. Balancing <br>--this--in and out--agh. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Love you? It's <br>a fire in the blood, willy-nilly! <br>It's the sun coming up in the morning. <br>Ha, but it's the grey moon too, already up <br>in the morning. You are slow. <br>Men are not friends where it concerns <br>a woman? Fighters. Playfellows. <br>White round thighs! Youth! Sighs--! <br>It's the fillip of novelty. It's-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mountains. Elephants humping along <br>against the sky--indifferent to <br>light withdrawing its tattered shreds, <br>worn out with embraces. It's <br>the fillip of novelty. It's a fire in the blood. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh get a flannel shirt, white flannel <br>or pongee. You'd look so well! <br>I married you because I liked your nose. <br>I wanted you! I wanted you <br>in spite of all they'd say-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rain and light, mountain and rain, <br>rain and river. Will you love me always? <br>--A car overturned and two crushed bodies <br>under it.--Always! Always! <br>And the white moon already up. <br>White. Clean. All the colors. <br>A good head, backed by the eye--awake! <br>backed by the emotions--blind-- <br>River and mountain, light and rain--or <br>rain, rock, light, trees--divided: <br>rain-light counter rocks-trees or <br>trees counter rain-light-rocks or-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Myriads of counter processions <br>crossing and recrossing, regaining <br>the advantage, buying here, selling there <br>--You are sold cheap everywhere in town!-- <br>lingering, touching fingers, withdrawing <br>gathering forces into blares, hummocks, <br>peaks and rivers--rivers meeting rock <br>--I wish that you were lying there dead <br>and I sitting here beside you.-- <br>It's the grey moon--over and over. <br>It's the clay of these parts.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Carlos+Williams">William Carlos Williams</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537420" data-title="Romance Moderne de William Carlos Williams" data-description="Tracks of rain and light linger in 
the spongy greens of a nature whose 
flickering mountain--bulging nearer, 
ebbing back into the sun 
hollowing itself away to hold a lake,-- 
or brown stream rising and falling at the roadside, turning about, 
c..."></div>
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