At the earliest ending of winter, In March, a scrawny cry from outside Seemed like a sound in his mind. He knew that he heard it, A bird's cry, at daylight or before, In the early March wind. The sun was rising at six, No longer a battered panache above snow... It would have been outside. It was not from the vast ventriloquism Of sleep's faded papier-mache... The sun was coming from the outside. That scrawny cry--It was A chorister whose c preceded the choir. It was part of the colossal sun, Surrounded by its choral rings, Still far away. It was like A new knowledge of reality.
Last Poems of Wallace Stevens
Song Cycle by Ned Rorem (1923 - 2022)
1. Not ideas about the thing but the thing itself  [sung text checked 1 time]
Authorship:
- by Wallace Stevens (1879 - 1955), "Not ideas about the thing but the thing itself"
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]2. The River of Rivers in Connecticut  [sung text checked 1 time]
There is a great river this side of Stygia Before one comes to the first black cataracts And trees that lack the intelligence of trees. In that river, far this side of Stygia, The mere flowing of the water is a gayety, Flashing and flashing in the sun. On its banks, No shadow walks. The river is fateful, Like the last one. But there is no ferryman. He could not bend against its propelling force. It is not to be seen beneath the appearances That tell of it. The steeple at Farmington Stands glistening and Haddam shines and sways. It is the third commonness with light and air, A curriculum, a vigor, a local abstraction . . . Call it, one more, a river, an unnamed flowing, Space-filled, reflecting the seasons, the folk-lore Of each of the senses; call it, again and again, The river that flows nowhere, like a sea.
Authorship:
- by Wallace Stevens (1879 - 1955), "The River of Rivers in Connecticut"
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]3. A child asleep in its own life  [sung text checked 1 time]
Among the old men that you know [ ... ]
Authorship:
- by Wallace Stevens (1879 - 1955), "A child asleep in its own life", appears in The Palm at the End of the Mind, copyright ©
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This text may be copyright, so we will not display it until we obtain permission to do so or discover it is public-domain.4. The Planet on the Table  [sung text checked 1 time]
Ariel was glad he had written his poems. They were of a remembered time Or of something seen that he liked. Other makings of the sun Were waste and welter And the ripe shrub writhed. His self and the sun were one And his poems, although makings of his self, Were no less makings of the sun. It was not important that they survive. What mattered was that they should bear Some lineament or character, Some affluence, if only half-perceived, In the poverty of their words, Of the planet of which they were part
Authorship:
- by Wallace Stevens (1879 - 1955), "The Planet on the Table", appears in The Palm at the End of the Mind
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]5. The Dove in Spring  [sung text checked 1 time]
Brooder, brooder, deep beneath its walls-- A small howling of the dove Makes something of the little there, The little and the dark, and that In which it is and that in which It is established. There the dove Makes this small howling, like a thought That howls in the mind or like a man Who keeps seeking out his identity In that which is and is established...It howls Of the great sizes of an outer bush And the great misery of the doubt of it, Of stripes of silver that are strips Like slits across a space, a place And state of being large and light. There is this bubbling before the sun, This howling at one's ear, too far For daylight and too near for sleep.
Authorship:
- by Wallace Stevens (1879 - 1955), "The Dove in Spring"
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]6. Of mere being  [sung text checked 1 time]
The palm at the end of the mind, Beyond the last thought, rises In the bronze distance. A gold-feathered bird Sings in the palm, without human meaning, Without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason That makes us happy or unhappy. The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.
Authorship:
- by Wallace Stevens (1879 - 1955), "Of mere being", appears in The Palm at the End of the Mind
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]7. A clear day and no memories  [sung text checked 1 time]
No soldiers in the scenery, No thoughts of people now dead, As they were fifty years ago, Young and living in a live air, Young and walking in the sunshine, Bending in blue dresses to touch something, Today the mind is not part of the weather. Today the air is clear of everything. It has no knowledge except of nothingness And it flows over us without meanings, As if none of us had ever been here before And are not now: in this shallow spectacle, This invisible activity, this sense.
Authorship:
- by Wallace Stevens (1879 - 1955), "A clear day and no memories", appears in The Palm at the End of the Mind
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]