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Links on Imagism -


A Brief Guide to Imagism
On Lowell, Pound, and Imagism
The Path to Imagism
Harriet Monroe and the "Imagists"
Imagism
Imagism: Poetry of Immediate Sensation



Imagist poems -


The Red Wheelbarrow - William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow


glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.


In a Station of the Metro - Ezra Pound

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.



Alba - Ezra Pound

As cool as the pale wet leaves
of lily-of-the-valley
She lay beside me in the dawn.



The Taxi - Amy Lowell


When I go away from you
The world beats dead
Like a slackened drum
I call out for you against the jutted stars
And shout into the ridges of the wind.
Streets coming fast,
One after the other,
Wedge you away from me,
And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
So that I can no longer see your face.
Why should I leave you,
To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?

from Sword Blades & Poppy Seed (1914)


Meditation - Amy Lowell


A wise man,
Watching the stars pass across the sky,
Remarked:
In the upper air the fireflies move more slowly.


A Decade - Amy Lowell


When you came, you were like red wine
and honey,
And the taste of you burnt my mouth
with its sweetness.
Now you are like morning bread,
I hardly taste you at all for I know your
savor,
But I am completely nourished.


Images


by Richard Aldington

I Like a gondola of green scented fruits
Drifting along the dank canals of Venice,
You, O exquisite one,
Have entered into my desolate city.

II The blue smoke leaps
Like swirling clouds of birds vanishing.
So my love leaps forth toward you,
Vanishes and is renewed.

III A rose-yellow moon in a pale sky
When the sunset is faint vermilion
In the mist among the tree-boughs
Art thou to me, my beloved.

IV A young beech tree on the edge of the forest
Stands still in the evening,
Yet shudders through all its leaves in the light air
And seems to fear the stars—
So are you still and so tremble.

V The red deer are high on the mountain,
They are beyond the last pine trees.
And my desires have run with them.

VI The flower which the wind has shaken
Is soon filled again with rain;
So does my heart fill slowly with tears,
O Foam-Driver, Wind-of-the-Vineyards,
Until you return.