Poems by Maxwell Bodenheim

Poems by Maxwell Bodenheim

Summer Evening: New York Subway-Station, by Maxwell Bodenheim

Perspiring violence derides
The pathetic collapse of dirt.
An effervescence of noises
Depends ...

Steel-Mills: South Chicago, by Maxwell Bodenheim

I This red hush toppling over the sky,
Wanders one step toward the stars
And dies in a questi...

South State Street: Chicago, by Maxwell Bodenheim

I Rows of blankly box-like buildings
Raise their sodden architecture
Into the poised lyric of ...

Sometimes Jaded, Sometimes Tranquil, by Maxwell Bodenheim

Sometimes jaded, sometimes tranquil,
Your eyes invade the tumult of your face.
Your lips are ...

Soldiers, by Maxwell Bodenheim

The smile of one face is like a fierce mermaid
Floating dead in a little pale-brown pond.
The l...

Smiles, by Maxwell Bodenheim

Smiles are the words beyond the words
That thoughts abandon helplessly.
Upon this nervous shop-...

Simple Account of a Poet's Life, by Maxwell Bodenheim

In 1892
When literature and art in America
Presented a mildewed but decorous mien,
He was bor...

Sedate and Archaic, a Twilight-Frilled Haze, by Maxwell Bodenheim

Sedate and archaic, a twilight-frilled haze
Walks over the meadows like rolled-out centuries

Seaweed from Mars, by Maxwell Bodenheim

I "Have you ever played a violin
Larger than ten thousand stars
And warmer than what you call ...

Poet To His Love, by Maxwell Bodenheim

An old silver church in a forest
Is my love for you
The trees around it
Are words that I have ...

Portraits, by Maxwell Bodenheim

I You were in the room, yet your body
Was stone cut in drooping lines
And hued with decorous ...

Poet-Vagabond Grown Old, by Maxwell Bodenheim

The dust of many roads has been my grey wine.
Surprised beech-trees have bowed
With me, to the...

Pronounced Fantasy, by Maxwell Bodenheim

A negro girl with skin
As black as a psychic threat,
And plentiful swells of blonde hair,

Pierrot Objects, by Maxwell Bodenheim

They have made me an airy apology
for the crude insistence of their flesh!
They have made me tw...

Old Age, by Maxwell Bodenheim

In me is a little painted square
Bordered by old shops, with gaudy awnings.
And before the sho...