The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens Kindle ´ The

The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens This definitive poetry collection originally published in 1954 to honor Stevens on his 75th birthday contains Harmonium Ideas of Order The Man With the Blue Guitar Parts of the World Transport Summer The Auroras of Autumn The Rock


About the Author: Wallace Stevens

Wallace Stevens is a rare example of a poet whose main output came at a fairly advanced age His first major publication four poems from a seuence entitled Phases in the November 1914 edition of Poetry Magazine was written at the age of thirty five although as an undergraduate at Harvard Stevens had written poetry and exchanged sonnets with George Santayana with whom he was close through m



10 thoughts on “The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens

  1. says:

    i fell in love with two men in my undergrad senior seminar it was on wallace stevens and ts eliot the way i loved both of these writers hurt i'll set eliot aside for another time stevens kills me when he uses very innocent symbols making ice cream in the emperor of ice cream for instance to offset the tragedy that's occurring front loaded with the promise of the s


  2. says:

    In my life no poet has meant to me than Wallace Stevens It took years of blinking incomprehension before I really found an entry point actually I highly recommend the wikipedia page for Harmonium a great introduction He doesn't make things too easy and yet once he opens up to you you can practically make your home inside his oeuvre An immensely generous poet Stevens teach


  3. says:

    The Collected Poems by Wallace StevensThis comprehensive collection of than three hundred poems won Stevens the National Book Award for Poetry in 1955 He also won the Pulitzer and was a widely respected poet Stevens is considered a master of the blank verse Nearly all of his poems have consistent meter but lack obvious rhyme schemesTo read Stevens poetry out loud is music it is as


  4. says:

    Autumn Refrain The skreak and skritter of evening goneAnd grackles gone and sorrows of the sunThe sorrows of sun too gone the moon and moonThe yellow moon of words about the nightingaleIn measureless measures not a bird for meBut the name of a bird and the name of a nameless airI have never shall never hear And yet beneathThe stillness of everything gone and being stillBeing and sitting st


  5. says:

    For Easter A friend told me this is maybe the best poem in the English language uoting bits of it as we were driving along Had to look it up Here it isWallace Stevens 1879 1955Sunday Morning 1Complacencies of the peignoir and lateCoffee and oranges in a sunny chairAnd the green freedom of a cockatooUpon a rug mingle to dissipateThe holy hush of ancient sacrificeShe dreams a little and she feels the


  6. says:

    all night once i stayed up and read this book cover to cover looking for a poem i thought i remembered about dancing


  7. says:

    I don't know how to rate this or how to review it It's like TS Eliot 8 poems out of 10 either make me feel stupid or make me hate poetry The other 2 knock me flat on my back


  8. says:

    This is the type of book I read at 3 am when I can't sleep Stevens' poetry just makes me feel so calm even though the content in his poetry is not in fact anywhere near the realms of calm Overall I would say the content is hard hitting I'm not going to pretend I understand all of his ideas and everything he says I definitely don't A lot of these poems leave me feeling like an idiot But when I am able to figure something out i


  9. says:

    This book of poetry combines an earthy sensibility coupled with a philosophical speculation that appeals to me My favorite book of poetry


  10. says:

    Stevens wrote poetry like a jeweler cuts diamonds; his language is musical to the ear and prismatic in the mind's eye He often writes about the power of art specifically poetry to transform Reality She sang beyond the genius of the sea It was her voice that madeThe sky acutest at its vanishingShe was the single artificer of the worldIn which she sang And when she sang the seaWhatever self it had became the self That was her song for she was t


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