Alan Dugan was an American poet. His poetry is known for its plain and direct language, though it is supported by technical skill; it is generally trenchant and ironic in its criticism of American life and received ideas, and in its frank sensuality alike.
Dugan grew up in Jamaica, Queens in New York City and served in World War II, experiences which entered his poetry though he avoided simple autobiography or confession. He later lived in Truro on Cape Cod in Massachusetts, where he directed the Fine Arts Work Center and was a mentor and teacher to younger poets for decades.
Dugan's work was published in successive numbered collections under the simple title ... more »
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Alan Dugan Poems
I know but will not tell you, Aunt Irene, why there are soap suds in the whiskey: Uncle Robert had to have
On A Seven-Day Diary
Oh I got up and went to work and worked and came back home and ate and talked and went to sleep. Then I got up and went to work
On Looking for Models
The trees in time have something else to do besides their treeing. What is it. I'm a starving to death
Love Song: I And Thou
Nothing is plumb, level, or square: the studs are bowed, the joists are shaky by nature, no piece fits any other piece without a gap
On The Civil War On The East Coast Of Th...
Because of the unaccountable spirit of the troops oh we were marched as we were never marched before
After your first poetry reading I shook hands with you and got a hard-on. Thank you. We know that old trees
The skin ripples over my body like moon-wooed water, rearing to escape me. Where could it find another
On Hurricane Jackson
Now his nose’s bridge is broken, one eye will not focus and the other is a stray; trainers whisper in his mouth while one ear
Untitled Poem - I
Once, one of my students read a book we had. She was doing a history assignment on the decline and fall of the Roman Empire
Untitled Poem - II
Speciously individual like a solid piece of spit floating in a cuspidor I dream of free bravery
Wall, Cave, And Pillar Statements, After...
In order to perfect all readers the statements should he carved on rock walls, on cave walls, and on the sides of pillars so
How We Heard The Name
The river brought down dead horses, dead men and military debris, indicative of war
Fabrication Of Ancestors
The old wound in my ass has opened up again, but I
Plague Of Dead Sharks
Who knows whether the sea heals or corrodes? The wading, wintered pack-beasts of the feet
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Edgar Allan Poe
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I know but will not tell
you, Aunt Irene, why there
are soap suds in the whiskey:
Uncle Robert had to have
A drink while shaving.