FOUR POEMS
Stephen Crane (1871-1900)

Stephen Crane is one of the giants of American literature. His novel, The Red Badge of Courage, is a classic. His short story, The Open Boat is considered by some critics to be one of the finest short stories in the English language. His poetry falls short of this high standard. It was not widely acclaimed when it was first published, and it has been almost forgotten today.

But I have always liked it a lot. So I thought this week I would offer four of his poems. They are short and have no titles. And they are somewhat eccentric, even by today's standards. They don't rhyme, and they follow no apparent metric pattern.

When Crane's first poems were published toward the end of the 19th century, several critics were somewhat impressed, using terms such as "fascinating" and "bold." Several critics compared him to Walt Whitman, some favorably and some not so favorably. One noted that Whitman's shortcomings have been pardoned "for the sake of his poetic thoughts," but then, referring to Crane, noted that "we cannot go on forgiving these eccentricities of genius forever."

It is probably worth noting that because of its unusual nature, Crane's poetry was also widely panned at the time. The introduction to my little volume, The Complete Poems of Stephen Crane, which contains 134 verses, notes that Crane's first book of poetry (there were two) "was the target of fun, both friendly and vicious."

Anyway, here are four of my favorite Crane poems. I hope you enjoy them.

Four Poems

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter-bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."



If there is a witness to my little life,
To my tiny throes and struggles,
He sees a fool;
And it is not fine for gods to menace fools.



The wayfarer
Perceiving the pathway to truth
Was struck with astonishment.
It was thickly grown with weeds.
"Ha," he said,
"I see that none has passed here
In a long time."
Later he saw that each weed
Was a singular knife.
"Well," he mumbled at last,
"Doubtless there are other roads."



A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"That fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."

top of page



    Copyright © 2004-2008 The Political Forum