Howard Nemerov

(29 February 1920 – 5 July 1991 / New York City, New York)

Howard Nemerov Poems

1. Political Reflection 6/19/2015
2. The Author To His Body On Their Fifteenth Birthday, 29 Ii 80 5/3/2012
3. Witnessing The Launch Of The Shuttle Atlantis 5/3/2012
4. The Painter Dreaming In The Scholar’s House 5/3/2012
5. The Consent 5/3/2012
6. The Town Dump 5/3/2012
7. To David, About His Education 5/3/2012
8. The Murder Of William Remington 4/15/2010
9. Pockets 5/3/2012
10. A Day On The Big Branch 5/3/2012
11. Found Poem 5/3/2012
12. Magnitudes 5/3/2012
13. Young Woman 4/15/2010
14. On An Occasion Of National Mourning 5/3/2012
15. A Primer Of The Daily Round 5/3/2012
16. The View From An Attic Window 4/15/2010
17. Lion & Honeycomb 5/3/2012
18. Life Cycle Of Common Man 5/3/2012
19. Writing 4/15/2010
20. The Brief Journey West 4/15/2010
21. To D—, Dead By Her Own Hand 4/15/2010
22. The Vacuum 4/15/2010
23. The War In The Air 4/15/2010
24. The Icehouse In Summer 4/15/2010
25. The Host, He Says That All Is Well 4/15/2010
26. Threshold 1/13/2003
27. The Makers 1/3/2003
28. The Lobster 1/3/2003
29. Money 4/15/2010
30. The Beautiful Lawn Sprinkler 1/13/2003
31. The Dependencies 1/3/2003
32. Style 1/3/2003
33. Kicks 1/13/2003
34. Poetics 1/3/2003
35. Gyroscope 1/3/2003
36. Fugue 1/3/2003
37. Casting 1/3/2003
38. I Only Am Escaped Alone To Tell Thee 6/30/2003
39. Amateurs Of Heaven 1/3/2003
40. Walking The Dog 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Howard Nemerov

Because You Asked About The Line Between Prose And Poetry

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.

There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.

Read the full of Because You Asked About The Line Between Prose And Poetry

Fugue

You see them vanish in their speeding cars,
The many people hastening through the world,
And wonder what they would have done before
This time of time speed distance, random streams
Of molecules hastened by what rising heat?
Was there never a world where people just sat still?

Yet they might be all of them contemplatives
Of a timeless now, drivers and passengers

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