Howard Nemerov

(29 February 1920 ā€“ 5 July 1991 / New York City, New York)

Howard Nemerov Poems

1. Because You Asked About The Line Between Prose And Poetry 1/3/2003
2. September, The First Day Of School 1/13/2003
3. Learning By Doing 1/3/2003
4. A Life 1/3/2003
5. Learning The Trees 1/3/2003
6. The Goose Fish 1/3/2003
7. Insomnia I 1/3/2003
8. Storm Windows 1/3/2003
9. A Spell Before Winter 1/3/2003
10. The Blue Swallows 1/3/2003
11. Amateurs Of Heaven 1/3/2003
12. I Only Am Escaped Alone To Tell Thee 6/30/2003
13. Walking The Dog 1/3/2003
14. Casting 1/3/2003
15. Fugue 1/3/2003
16. Gyroscope 1/3/2003
17. Poetics 1/3/2003
18. Kicks 1/13/2003
19. Style 1/3/2003
20. The Dependencies 1/3/2003
21. The Beautiful Lawn Sprinkler 1/13/2003
22. The Lobster 1/3/2003
23. The Makers 1/3/2003
24. Threshold 1/13/2003
25. Money 4/15/2010
26. The Host, He Says That All Is Well 4/15/2010
27. The Icehouse In Summer 4/15/2010
28. The Vacuum 4/15/2010
29. The War In The Air 4/15/2010
30. To Dā€”, Dead By Her Own Hand 4/15/2010
31. Life Cycle Of Common Man 5/3/2012
32. The Brief Journey West 4/15/2010
33. Writing 4/15/2010
34. Lion & Honeycomb 5/3/2012
35. A Primer Of The Daily Round 5/3/2012
36. Young Woman 4/15/2010
37. Found Poem 5/3/2012
38. Magnitudes 5/3/2012
39. A Day On The Big Branch 5/3/2012
40. The View From An Attic Window 4/15/2010
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

A Spell Before Winter

After the red leaf and the gold have gone,
Brought down by the wind, then by hammering rain
Bruised and discolored, when October's flame
Goes blue to guttering in the cusp, this land
Sinks deeper into silence, darker into shade.
There is a knowledge in the look of things,
The old hills hunch before the north wind blows.

Now I can see certain simplicities

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