William F Dougherty
Biography of William F Dougherty
William F. Dougherty, Ph.D., has published two books of poetry and served as a newspaper editor, critic, lecturer, reviewer, and speechwriter. He wrote his master's thesis on W. B. Yeats at Central Connecticut State University and his doctoral dissertation on Wallace Stevens for his PhD from the University of Connecticut.
Dr. Dougherty has taught courses at Central Connecticut University, University of Connecticut, University of Hartford, Teikyo-Post University, Manchester Community College, and Eastern Connecticut State University.
He has published poems in The Wallace Stevens Review, North American Review,
Descant, Forum (Houston) , Romantics Quarterly, The Lyric, Maine Life, Connecticut River Review, California State Poetry Quarterly, The Raintown Review, Best Poems of 2005, and the International Who’s Who in Poetry.
Poetry Books: Owl Light, Wings Press,1982. (Available at Amazon.com) and
Poems: New & Used, Poemeaters Press,2004.
From 1960-1981, he served as chief editorial writer or editorial page editor of the Waterbury Republican-American, The Hartford Times, Boston Herald-Traveler, Nashua Telegraph, and New Bedford Standard-Times.
He lives and writes in West Hartford, Connecticut.
William F Dougherty's Works:
Connecticut universities, including UConn.
'Owl Light.' Wings Press.
'Poems: New & Used.' Poemeates Press.
'Feminine Archetypes in Wallace Stevens.' UMI
William F Dougherty Poems
Wallace Stevens: The Click Of Marbled Or...
(Sonnet as Keynote to WS) The stout man puffs on his Havana cigar And picks canary chords on his blue guitar,
(For Cynthia Ann Dougherty) Towing your tattered doll, you would fetch your storybook
[from the Crab Sonnets] They sank a silver zipper in my chest: a foot of snag-toothed staples used to chain
A Roman Sentry's Friday Duty
A soldier's curse is not the copper pay, stationed here in this gods-forsaken place! I'd bribe a centurion to leave today.
The archived rite returns in gothic gray: a bruise-dark sky, a blunt and tugging rain, a sheen of black umbrellas, spaded clay. The camera obscura, mind, ingrains
The unction cools my brow; the candle shines and braids a line of sacramental brede; the priest half-chants the text, and makes the signs, jogging my mind with the redemptive creed
September 11 (See New Revision)
I slouch into my class, bowed by the brute, apocalyptic shock. No student's eyes forsake the glowing screen; the sound is mute. Their center, Yeats's vatic lines forewarn, flies
A Promise To Keep (Update.)
Words are for those with promises to keep. — W.H. Auden I promised her the garden's glory: marigold's monarchal blooms,
I traced his tracks in crunching snow, printed crisply under the solemn pines: they left a trail like doubt in doubt— shuffling in murk, as if for signs.
The mole catacombed under dripping roots, gnawing grubs like clustered shrimp, pulpy white dangling in gloom. In the oak, patient hoots
Churning in a spiral shell, a monotone of waves rolls from a mouth of opal into memory’s caves
Sunday Is Visiting Day
The parking lot is full, but not for me- Churchgoing first, and then visiting day. Perhaps a glove is lost, perhaps a key: Something, some other annulling delay,
[Moodpomes: Calendar of Correlatives] Chalks of birch lambent, lean
Villanelle On A Proverb
The heart once broken is a heart no more. —Edna St. Vincent Millay
From Mad To Verse
(Old note on the day Ogden Nash cached in.)
Jabberwock, ode to a skylark,
he'd used any device (licit or il)
slyly to entice words to a lip tease;
that harlequin in word-paint on a stanzaic trapeze,
slapstick Houdini of phonetic cajolery
hocus-pocused versentences into breathless, paragraph-long forced (Holy Moly)
marches until they began to huff and puff, then yank them somersaulting