William Bronk's poetry is some of the best that America produced. Why isn't he anthologized more often?
>>15745915why do you think he is big brained? he doesn't even wear socks. any poems to start with?
Bill Bronx could be his rap name
>>15745915post one of his poems
>>15748635Low T wallace stevens. Jk
>>15748635It's better than bad stuff but it doesn't grab me. But I'm old and jaded and set in my ways these days. He might have merit. (I'm the guy who asked you to post it, not the guy who talked about Wallace).
>>15749751I am not OP, I just posted the only Bronk poem that was on the site I went to, it's possible it's not a good example. Here is another anyway, I sort of like it:This boy, of course, was dead, whatever thatmight mean. And nobly dead. I think we should feelhe was nobly dead. He fell in battle, perhaps,and this carved stone remembers himnot as he may have looked, but as if to definethe naked virtue the stone describes as his.One foot is forward, the eyes look out, the armsdrop downward past the narrow waist to handshanging in burdenless fullness by the heavy flanks.The boy was dead, and the stone smiles in his deathlightening the lips with the pleasure of something achieved:an end. To come to an end. To come to deathas an end. And coming, bring there intact, the fullweight of his strength and virtue, the prize with whichhis empty hands are full. None of it lost,safe home, and smile at the end achieved.Now death, of which nothing as yet - or ever - is known,leaves us alone to think as we want of it,and accepts our choice, shaping the life to the death.Do we want an end? It gives us; and takes what we giveand keeps it; and has, this way, in life itself,a kind of treasure house of comely formachieved and left with death to stay and beforever beautiful and whole, as ifto want too much the perfect, unbroken formwere the same as wanting death, as choosing deathfor an end. There are other ways; we know the wayto make the other choice for death: unformedor broken, less than whole, puzzled, we livein a formless world. Endless, we hope for no end.I tell you death, expect no smile of pridefrom me. I bring you nothing in my empty hands.