::উইলিয়াম কার্লোস উইলিয়ামসের কবিতা ২:: [William Carlos Williams was an American poet closely associated with modernism and Imagism. He was also a pediatrician and general practitioner of medicine, having graduated from the University of Pennsylvania School of Medicine. Williams worked harder at being a writer than he did at being a physician; but during his lifetime, Williams excelled at both.] A Goodnight Go to sleep--though of course you will not-- to tideless waves thundering slantwise against strong embankments, rattle and swish of spray dashed thirty feet high, caught by the lake wind, scattered and strewn broadcast in over the steady car rails! Sleep, sleep! Gulls cries in a wind-gust broken by the wind; calculating wings set above the field of waves breaking. Go to sleep to the lunge between foam-crests, refuse churned in the recoil. Food! Food! Offal! Offal! that holds them in the air, wave-white for the one purpose, feather upon feather, the wild chill in their eyes, the hoarseness in their voices-- sleep, sleep . . . Gentlefooted crowds are treading out your lullaby. Their arms nudge, they brush shoulders, hitch this way then that, mass and surge at the crossings-- lullaby, lullaby! The wild-fowl police whistles, the enraged roar of the traffic, machine shrieks: it is all to put you to sleep, to soften your limbs in relaxed postures, and that your head slip sidewise, and your hair loosen and fall over your eyes and over your mouth, brushing your lips wistfully that you may dream, sleep and dream-- A black fungus springs out about the lonely church doors-- sleep, sleep. The Night, coming down upon the wet boulevard, would start you awake with his message, to have in at your window. Pay no heed to him. He storms at your sill with cooings, with gesticulations, curses! You will not let him in. He would keep you from sleeping. He would have you sit under your desk lamp brooding, pondering; he would have you slide out the drawer, take up the ornamented dagger and handle it. It is late, it is nineteen-nineteen-- go to sleep, his cries are a lullaby; his jabbering is a sleep-well-my-baby; he is a crackbrained messenger. The maid waking you in the morning when you are up and dressing, the rustle of your clothes as you raise them-- it is the same tune. At table the cold, greeninsh, split grapefruit, its juice on the tongue, the clink of the spoon in your coffee, the toast odors say it over and over. The open street-door lets in the breath of the morning wind from over the lake. The bus coming to a halt grinds from its sullen brakes-- lullaby, lullaby. The crackle of a newspaper, the movement of the troubled coat beside you-- sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep . . . It is the sting of snow, the burning liquor of the moonlight, the rush of rain in the gutters packed with dead leaves: go to sleep, go to sleep. And the night passes--and never passes-- ................................................... Apology Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it: colored women day workers— old and experienced— returning home at dusk in cast off clothing faces like old Florentine oak. Also the set pieces of your faces stir me— leading citizens— but not in the same way. ................................................... Après le Bain I gotta buy me a new girdle. (Ill buy you one) O.K. (I wish youd wig- gle that way for me, Id be a happy man) I GOTTA wig- gle for this. (You pig) সৌজন্যে: poemhunter/william-carlos-williams/
Posted on: Sat, 01 Feb 2014 16:45:37 +0000
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