#adelaide crapsey

[exhalereleased]

"Susanna and the Elders" by Adelaide Crapsey, featured in The New Poetry: An Anthology edited by Harriet Monroe and Alice Corbin Henderson

[ma-pi-ma]

Ascolta.

Con un debole suono secco,

come passi di fantasmi che passano,

le foglie, increspate dal gelo, si staccano dagli alberi

e cadono.

Adelaide Crapsey, da Verse, 1922

[extollingtheeveryday]

Adelaide Crapsey, "November Night" [ID in alt text]

[ineedtoreadmorepoetry]

Trapped by Adelaide Crapsey

Well and If day on day Follows, and weary year On year. . and ever days and years. . Well?

[alliwanttodoiscollectpoetry]

I know Not these my hands And yet I think there was A woman like me once had hands Like these.

Amaze ~ Adelaide Crapsey

[dk-thrive]

November Night

Listen. . With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees And fall.

— Adelaide Crapsey (1878-1915), November Night in Complete Poems and Collected Letters of Adelaide Crapsey  (State University of New York Press) (via The Hammock Papers)

[theyearofhalloween]

Listen. . .

With faint dry sound,

Like steps of passing ghosts,

The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees

And fall.

Adelaide Crapsey, “November Night”

[spudcity]

To The Dead in the Graveyard Underneath My Window

Written in a Moment of Exasperation

How can you lie so still? All day I watch

And never a blade of all the green sod moves

To show where restlessly you toss and turn,

And fling a desperate arm or draw up knees

Stiffened and aching from their long disuse;

I watch all night and not one ghost comes forth

To take its freedom of the midnight hour.

Oh, have you no rebellion in your bones?

The very worms must scorn you where you lie,

A pallid mouldering acquiescent folk,

Meek habitants of unresented graves.

Why are you there in your straight row on row

Where I must ever see you from my bed

That in your mere dumb presence iterate

The text so weary in my ears: "Lie still

And rest; be patient and lie still and rest."

I'll not be patient! I will not lie still!

There is a brown road runs between the pines,

And further on the purple woodlands lie,

And still beyond blue mountains lift and loom;

And I would walk the road and I would be

Deep in the wooded shade and I would reach

The windy mountain tops that touch the clouds.

My eyes may follow but my feet are held.

Recumbent as you others must I too

Submit? Be mimic of your movelessness

With pillow and counterpane for stone and sod?

And if the many sayings of the wise

Teach of submission I will not submit

But with a spirit all unreconciled

Flash an unquenched defiance to the stars.

Better it is to walk, to run, to dance,

Better it is to laugh and leap and sing,

To know the open skies of dawn and night,

To move untrammeled down the flaming noon,

And I will clamour it through weary days

Keeping the edge of deprivation sharp,

Nor with the pliant speaking on my lips

Of resignation, sister to defeat.

I'll not be patient. I will not lie still.

And in ironic quietude who is

The despot of our days and lord of dust

Needs but, scarce heeding, wait to drop

Grim casual comment on rebellion's end;

"Yes, yes . . Wilful and petulant but now

As dead and quiet as the others are."

And this each body and ghost of you hath heard

That in your graves do therefore lie so still.

– Adelaide Crapsey

[violettesiren]

These be Three silent things: The falling snow. . the hour Before the dawn. . the mouth of one Just dead.

Triad by Adelaide Crapsey

[eveningreading]

Listen… With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees And fall.

“November Night.” Adelaide Crapsey. (1915)

[clivechip]

November In Words And Music

 I have written several times previously about what a dull month November is to me: the clocks have just gone back, heralding the onset of long, dark evenings, the weather usually starts to turn from autumnal to wintery, and everything seems to be on hold until December arrives, bringing the promise of Christmas and good times with loved ones. Unlike the USA, who have Thanksgiving Day, for us…

[llovelymoonn]

favourite poems of october

alfred starr a dark dreambox of another kind: the poems of alfred starr: "didn't you ever search for another star?

stephen spender new collected poems: "auden's funeral"

marianne boruch keats is coughing

noa micaela fields zoeglossia: poem of the week, may 17, 2021: "echolalia"

kevin young diptych

richard siken real estate

crisosto apache kúghą/home

mikko harvey for m

nathan hoks nests in air: "the barbed wire nest"

john a. holmes noon waking

crisosto apache 37 common characterisi(x)s of a displaced indian with a learning disability

oliver de la paz requiem for the orchard: "at the time of my birth"

zhang xun jiangnan song (tr. bijaan noormohamed)

paul violi fracas: "extenuating circumstances"

tianru wang after "yellow crane tower"

lloyd schwartz cairo traffic: "nostalgia (the lake at night)"

kamiko han the narrow road to the interior: "the orient"

rigoberto gonzalez unpeopled eden: "unpeopled eden"

adelaide crapsey verse: "to the dead in the graveyard underneath my window"

chester kallman night music

alan shapiro covenant: "covenant"

tom clark light and shade: new and selected poems: "radio"

tc tolbert my melissa,

charlie smith in praise of regret

carolyn kizer cool, calm, and collected: poems 1960-2000: "fanny"

julie sheehan orient point: "hate poem"

arthur sze the redshifting web: poems 1970-1998: "streamers"

joumana altallal everything here...in the voice of tara fares

abid b al-abras last simile

w.s. merwin to lingering regrets

george scarbrough music

shout me a coffee

[swanyume]

The shadowy boy of night

Crosses the dusking land;

He sows his poppy-seeds

With steady, gentle hand.

The shadowy boy of night

Young husbandman of dreams,

Garners his gracious blooms

By far and moonlit streams.

My take on a portrait of Enmu inspired by Hypnos, the god of sleep, I thought this would be an interesting and unique concept for him. I like to imagine that Enmu is somewhat based off of Hypnos in one way or another, please enjoy! ^^

(Poem by Adelaide Crapsey)

[anolis3]

Samhain, 31st October - 1st November, the birth of Winter.

"Listen... With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees And fall.", from November Night, by Adelaide Crapsey.

"I move my hand and feel a touch move with me, and when I brush my own mind across another, I am with my mother's mother. Sure as footsteps in my waiting self, I find her, and she brings

Arms that carry answers for me, intimate, a waiting bounty. "Carry me". She leaves this trail through a shudder of the veil, and leaves, like amber where she stays, a gift of her perpetual gaze.", from Samhain, by Annie Finch.

[ineedtoreadmorepoetry]

Triad by Adelaide Crapsey

These be Three silent things: The falling snow. . the hour Before the dawn. . the mouth of one Just dead.

[alliwanttodoiscollectpoetry]

If it Were lighter touch Than petal of flower resting On grass, oh still too heavy it were, Too heavy!

THE GUARDED WOUND ~ Adelaide Crapsey