Harry Crosby was an American heir, a bon vivant, poet, publisher, and for some, epitomized the Lost Generation in American literature. He was the son of one of the richest banking families in New England, a member of the Boston Brahmin, and the nephew of Jane Norton Grew, the wife of financier J. P. Morgan, Jr.. As such, he was heir to a portion of a substantial family fortune. He was a volunteer in the American Field Service during World War I, and later served in the U.S. Ambulance Corps. He narrowly escaped with his life.
Profoundly affected by his experience in World War I, Crosby vowed to live life on his own terms and abandoned all pretense of living the expected life of a ... more »
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Harry Crosby Poems
I exchange eyes with the Mad Queen the mirror crashes against my face and bursts into a thousand suns
Quatrains to the Sun
A sunfort flourished in my sunless heart Beyond the Sun. Here in a tower apart The sunbirds of my lady's eyes were caged Alas, poor targets for the sun-god's dart.
Invocation to the Mad Queen
I would you were the hollow ship fashioned to bear the cargo of my love the unrelenting glove hurled in defiance at our blackest world
Why should I be subsevient to fate Si peu de chose before a giant world Poor little ship with little sail unfurled To catch the sun-breze at the harbor gate?
The Golden Gourd
What chance have snakes upon an asphalt road When giant limousines go gliding by, Of courtesans resolved to gratify The lust of lovers seeking new abode?
I exchange eyes with the Mad Queen. The mirror crashes against my face and bursts into a thousand suns. all over the city flags cracle and bang. Fog horns scream in the harbor. The wind hurricanes through the window. Tornadoes are unmuzzled as I begin to dance the dance of the Kurd Shepherds. I stamp upon the floor. I whirl like dervishes. Colors revolve dressing and undressing. I lash them with fury stark white with iron black harsh red with blue marble green with bright orange and only gold remains naked.
The Sun! the Sun! a fish in the aquarium of sky or golden net to snare the butterfly of soul
Study for a Soul
the colors have begun to form silvergray with cramoisy and gold into an arrow carved by storm beyond the fear of new and old
You've slipped from out your evening gown, you muse Before the polished lookingglass, a hand Unclasping frail corsage, while you peruse Your blushing charms. Your wayward eyes demand
I Drink To The Sun
Mad day flags crackling in the dawn the sharp intensity of drink dentelleries thrown over the mill fire sun and candlelight and at midnight I squeeze the juice of the silver fruit of the moon into the red glass of my heart.
Proud panoply of fans and frankincense, Gold blare of trumpets, flowered robes of state, Unnumbered symbols of magnificence, To lead Salome through the palace gate,
I, The Sun, Lord of the Sky, sojourning in the Land of Sky, being of sound mind and memory, do hereby make, publish and declare the following to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all other wills, codicils and testamentary dispositions by me at any time heretofore made.
Comments about Harry Crosby
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
I exchange eyes with the Mad Queen
the mirror crashes against my face
and bursts into a thousand suns
all over the city flags crackle and bang
fog horns scream in the harbor
the wind hurricanes through the window
and I begin to dance the dance of the
I stamp upon the floor
I whirl like dervishes
colors revolve dressing and undressing
I lash them with my fury
stark white with iron black
harsh red with blue
marble green with bright ...