(To Walker Evans.

This week I’ll post poems by oth­er folks as well as some from myself time and again, along with oth­er nor­mal stuff maybe if I feel like it. Today’s poem is by James Agee and comes from the excel­lent book Let Us Now Praise Famous Men. My man­i­festo also comes from that book:

“Isn’t every human being both a sci­en­tist and an artist; and in writ­ing of human expe­ri­ence, isn’t there a good deal to be said for rec­og­niz­ing that fact and for using both meth­ods?”


(To Walk­er Evans.

Against time and the damages of the brain
Sharpen and calibrate. Not yet in full,
Yet in some arbitrated part
Order the façade of the listless summer.
Spies, moving delicately among the enemy,
The younger sons, the fools,
Set somewhat aside the dialects and the stained skins of feigned
    madness,
Ambiguously signal, baffle, the eluded sentinel.
Edgar, weeping for pity, to the shelf of that sick bluff,
Bring your blind father, and describe a little;
Behold him, part wakened, fallen among field flowers shallow
But undisclosed, withdraw.
Not yet that naked hour when armed,
Disguise flung flat, squarely we challenge the fiend.
Still, comrade, the running of beasts and the ruining of heaven
Still captive the old wild king.

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