#a. r. ammons

[mournfulroses]

A. R. Ammons, from a poem titled "Shot Glass," featured in The New Yorker

[cutiewithawakenedheart]

"I take myself

all in, let go &

float free."

----A. R. Ammons

[robcam-wfu]

— A.R. Ammons, "Play"

[infinitesofnought]

But the motion occurs only in the body of the walker or in the body of the words. It can't be extracted and contemplated. It is nonreproducible and nonlogical. It can't be translated into another body. There is only one way to know it and that is to enter into it. To summarize, a walk involves the whole person; it is not reproducible: its shape occurs, unfolds: it has a motion characteristic of the walker.

– A. R. Ammons, "A Poem is a Walk"

[sisyphusshrugged]

A. R. Ammons

[dreamlesson]

infographic visualizing the poems of A.R. Ammons | class project from an English class over a decade ago

[potatoesandsunshine]

[nil-ebooks]

A poem by A. R. Ammons:

The spring

in

her step

has

turned to

PUMPKIN SPICE LET'S GO PUMPKIN SPICE TIME THAT'S RIGHT IT'S SEPTEMBER LOVE DA PUMPKIN SPICE GET A HOME RUN

[cityofchapin]

"Anxiety"

by A. R. Ammons from The Really Short Poems of A. R. Ammons The sparrowhawk flies hard to stand in the air: something about direction lets us loose into ease and slow grace.

[hiyutekivigil]

still, a. r. ammons

[adventuresofalgy]

No one, not even a fluffy bird, could say truthfully that today was a lovely day in the wild west Highlands of Scotland. Even at noon it was dark, because dense Scotch mist was blocking out most of the light; the wind was blowing, the rain was raining, and – especially if one was already wet as a result of these phenomena – it felt unpleasaantly cold, although in reality the temperature was nothing like as low as it was around the homes of many of Algy's friends in the northern hemisphere. But it's one thing to be cold and dry, especially in calm weather, and quite another to be cold and wet in a constantly buffeting wind…

However, as Algy perched damply in a hypericum bush, rocking resolutely to and fro in the wind and the rain, he suddenly noticed with glee that there were brand new bright green leaves coming out all around him, on stems which only a week or so ago had been almost completely bare. Despite the unpleasant conditions, he was truly delighted to see them, but as he grew damper and damper and colder and colder, he couldn't help reflecting that it was a pity that the weather in this part of the world so rarely permitted comfortable appreciation of the joys of the early spring, for:

In spring a bluster busting up against a wall will lift last year’s leaves higher than trees did.

[Algy is thinking of the short poem Resurrections by the 20th century American poet A. R. Ammons.]

[shipcestuous]

I'm currently reading Queenmaker by India Edghill, which is a retelling of David from the Bible from his first wife Michal's perspective, and David's son Prince Ammon, as in the Bible, wants to marry his half sister Princess Tamar. In contrast to the Bible, here it's mutual and they want to marry each other. However, Prince Ammon, again as in the Bible, is killed by his older brother Prince Absalom, and Tamar commits suicide, though it's implied Absalom murdered her too, because he didn't want the two to marry.

You are such a big reader! Thank you for sharing all of these discoveries with us!

Adding this to my Goodreads shelf.

[cutiewithawakenedheart]

"I go out there and sit

till difference and event yield to

perfect composure"

----A. R. Ammons

[pav-anne]

"substantial planes" by a. r. ammons

[infinitesofnought]

This suggests to me that description, logic, and hypothesis, reaching toward higher and higher levels of generality, come finally to an antithesis logic can't bridge. But poetry, the imagination, can create a vehicle, at once concrete and universal, one and many, similar and diverse, that is capable of bridging the duality and of bringing us the experience of a "real" world that is also a reconciled, a unified, real world. And this vehicle is the only expression of language, of words, that I know of that contradicts my quotation from Lao-tse, because a poem becomes, like reality, an existence about which nothing that can be said in words is worth saying.

– A. R. Ammons, "A Poem is a Walk"

[litbowl]

From The Really Short Poems of A. R. Ammons. (W.W. Norton, 1992).