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Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)

Wallace Stevens (1879-1955). Wallace Stevens. Wallace Stevens. Wallace Stevens. Wallace Stevens. Wallace Stevens. Wallace Stevens. Wallace Stevens. Wallace Stevens. Wallace Stevens. Wallace Stevens: The Hartford Insuance Company. Wallace Stevens--House on Westerly Terrace.

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Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)

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  1. Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)

  2. Wallace Stevens

  3. Wallace Stevens

  4. Wallace Stevens

  5. Wallace Stevens

  6. Wallace Stevens

  7. Wallace Stevens

  8. Wallace Stevens

  9. Wallace Stevens

  10. Wallace Stevens

  11. Wallace Stevens: The Hartford Insuance Company

  12. Wallace Stevens--House on Westerly Terrace

  13. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Each age is a pigeon-hole. (157)

  14. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Each age is a pigeon-hole. (157) • Life is an affair of people and not of places. But for me life is an affair of places and that is the trouble. (158)

  15. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Each age is a pigeon-hole. (157) • Life is an affair of people and not of places. But for me life is an affair of places and that is the trouble. (158) • After one has abandoned a belief in god, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption. (158)

  16. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Each age is a pigeon-hole. (157) • Life is an affair of people and not of places. But for me life is an affair of places and that is the trouble. (158) • After one has abandoned a belief in god, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption. (158) • The imagination wishes to be indulged. (159)

  17. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Each age is a pigeon-hole. (157) • Life is an affair of people and not of places. But for me life is an affair of places and that is the trouble. (158) • After one has abandoned a belief in god, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption. (158) • The imagination wishes to be indulged. (159) • Poetry is not personal. (159)

  18. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Each age is a pigeon-hole. (157) • Life is an affair of people and not of places. But for me life is an affair of places and that is the trouble. (158) • After one has abandoned a belief in god, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption. (158) • The imagination wishes to be indulged. (159) • Poetry is not personal. (159) • The real is only the base. But it is the base. (160)

  19. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Each age is a pigeon-hole. (157) • Life is an affair of people and not of places. But for me life is an affair of places and that is the trouble. (158) • After one has abandoned a belief in god, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption. (158) • The imagination wishes to be indulged. (159) • Poetry is not personal. (159) • The real is only the base. But it is the base. (160) • Weather is a sense of nature. Poetry is a sense. (161)

  20. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Each age is a pigeon-hole. (157) • Life is an affair of people and not of places. But for me life is an affair of places and that is the trouble. (158) • After one has abandoned a belief in god, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption. (158) • The imagination wishes to be indulged. (159) • Poetry is not personal. (159) • The real is only the base. But it is the base. (160) • Weather is a sense of nature. Poetry is a sense. (161) • All poetry is experimental poetry. (161)

  21. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Each age is a pigeon-hole. (157) • Life is an affair of people and not of places. But for me life is an affair of places and that is the trouble. (158) • After one has abandoned a belief in god, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption. (158) • The imagination wishes to be indulged. (159) • Poetry is not personal. (159) • The real is only the base. But it is the base. (160) • Weather is a sense of nature. Poetry is a sense. (161) • All poetry is experimental poetry. (161) • It is the belief and not the god that counts. (162)

  22. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Each age is a pigeon-hole. (157) • Life is an affair of people and not of places. But for me life is an affair of places and that is the trouble. (158) • After one has abandoned a belief in god, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption. (158) • The imagination wishes to be indulged. (159) • Poetry is not personal. (159) • The real is only the base. But it is the base. (160) • Weather is a sense of nature. Poetry is a sense. (161) • All poetry is experimental poetry. (161) • It is the belief and not the god that counts. (162) • The purpose of poetry is to make life complete in itself. (162)

  23. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Each age is a pigeon-hole. (157) • Life is an affair of people and not of places. But for me life is an affair of places and that is the trouble. (158) • After one has abandoned a belief in god, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption. (158) • The imagination wishes to be indulged. (159) • Poetry is not personal. (159) • The real is only the base. But it is the base. (160) • Weather is a sense of nature. Poetry is a sense. (161) • All poetry is experimental poetry. (161) • It is the belief and not the god that counts. (162) • The purpose of poetry is to make life complete in itself. (162) • The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth of belief is to know that is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly. (163)

  24. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Each age is a pigeon-hole. (157) • Life is an affair of people and not of places. But for me life is an affair of places and that is the trouble. (158) • After one has abandoned a belief in god, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption. (158) • The imagination wishes to be indulged. (159) • Poetry is not personal. (159) • The real is only the base. But it is the base. (160) • Weather is a sense of nature. Poetry is a sense. (161) • All poetry is experimental poetry. (161) • It is the belief and not the god that counts. (162) • The purpose of poetry is to make life complete in itself. (162) • The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth of belief is to know that is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly. (163) • The exquisite environment of fact. The final poem will be the poem of fact in the language of fact. But it will be the poem of fact not realized before. (164)

  25. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Each age is a pigeon-hole. (157) • Life is an affair of people and not of places. But for me life is an affair of places and that is the trouble. (158) • After one has abandoned a belief in god, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption. (158) • The imagination wishes to be indulged. (159) • Poetry is not personal. (159) • The real is only the base. But it is the base. (160) • Weather is a sense of nature. Poetry is a sense. (161) • All poetry is experimental poetry. (161) • It is the belief and not the god that counts. (162) • The purpose of poetry is to make life complete in itself. (162) • The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth of belief is to know that it is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly. (163) • The exquisite environment of fact. The final poem will be the poem of fact in the language of fact. But it will be the poem of fact not realized before. (164) • We live in the mind. (164)

  26. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Money is a kind of poetry. (165)

  27. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Money is a kind of poetry. (165) • It is not every day that the world arranges itself in a poem. (165)

  28. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Money is a kind of poetry. (165) • It is not every day that the world arranges itself in a poem. (165) • The death of one god is the death of all. (165)

  29. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Money is a kind of poetry. (165) • It is not every day that the world arranges itself in a poem. (165) • The death of one god is the death of all. (165) • In the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination. (165)

  30. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Money is a kind of poetry. (165) • It is not every day that the world arranges itself in a poem. (165) • The death of one god is the death of all. (165) • In the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination. (165) • A poet looks at the world as a man looks at a woman. (165)

  31. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Money is a kind of poetry. (165) • It is not every day that the world arranges itself in a poem. (165) • The death of one god is the death of all. (165) • In the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination. (165) • A poet looks at the world as a man looks at a woman. (165) • Perhaps there is a degree of perception at which what is real and what is imagined are one: a state of clairvoyant observation, accessible or possibly accessible to the poet or, say, the acutest poet. (166)

  32. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Money is a kind of poetry. (165) • It is not every day that the world arranges itself in a poem. (165) • The death of one god is the death of all. (165) • In the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination. (165) • A poet looks at the world as a man looks at a woman. (165) • Perhaps there is a degree of perception at which what is real and what is imagined are one: a state of clairvoyant observation, accessible or possibly accessible to the poet or, say, the acutest poet. (166) • Realism is a corruption of reality. (166)

  33. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Money is a kind of poetry. (165) • It is not every day that the world arranges itself in a poem. (165) • The death of one god is the death of all. (165) • In the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination. (165) • A poet looks at the world as a man looks at a woman. (165) • Perhaps there is a degree of perception at which what is real and what is imagined are one: a state of clairvoyant observation, accessible or possibly accessible to the poet or, say, the acutest poet. (166) • Realism is a corruption of reality. (166) • I don't think we should insist that the poet is normal or, for that matter, that anybody is. (166)

  34. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Money is a kind of poetry. (165) • It is not every day that the world arranges itself in a poem. (165) • The death of one god is the death of all. (165) • In the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination. (165) • A poet looks at the world as a man looks at a woman. (165) • Perhaps there is a degree of perception at which what is real and what is imagined are one: a state of clairvoyant observation, accessible or possibly accessible to the poet or, say, the acutest poet. (166) • Realism is a corruption of reality. (166) • I don't think we should insist that the poet is normal or, for that matter, that anybody is. (166) • When one is young everything is physical; when one is old everything is psychic. (167)

  35. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Money is a kind of poetry. (165) • It is not every day that the world arranges itself in a poem. (165) • The death of one god is the death of all. (165) • In the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination. (165) • A poet looks at the world as a man looks at a woman. (165) • Perhaps there is a degree of perception at which what is real and what is imagined are one: a state of clairvoyant observation, accessible or possibly accessible to the poet or, say, the acutest poet. (166) • Realism is a corruption of reality. (166) • I don't think we should insist that the poet is normal or, for that matter, that anybody is. (166) • When one is young everything is physical; when one is old everything is psychic. (167) • The tongue is an eye. (167)

  36. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Money is a kind of poetry. (165) • It is not every day that the world arranges itself in a poem. (165) • The death of one god is the death of all. (165) • In the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination. (165) • A poet looks at the world as a man looks at a woman. (165) • Perhaps there is a degree of perception at which what is real and what is imagined are one: a state of clairvoyant observation, accessible or possibly accessible to the poet or, say, the acutest poet. (166) • Realism is a corruption of reality. (166) • I don't think we should insist that the poet is normal or, for that matter, that anybody is. (166) • When one is young everything is physical; when one is old everything is psychic. (167) • The tongue is an eye. (167)

  37. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • Money is a kind of poetry. (165) • It is not every day that the world arranges itself in a poem. (165) • The death of one god is the death of all. (165) • In the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination. (165) • A poet looks at the world as a man looks at a woman. (165) • Perhaps there is a degree of perception at which what is real and what is imagined are one: a state of clairvoyant observation, accessible or possibly accessible to the poet or, say, the acutest poet. (166) • Realism is a corruption of reality. (166) • I don't think we should insist that the poet is normal or, for that matter, that anybody is. (166) • When one is young everything is physical; when one is old everything is psychic. (167) • The tongue is an eye. (167) • When the mind is like a hall in which thought is like a voice speaking, the voice is always that of someone else. (168)

  38. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • The body is the great poem. (168)

  39. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • The body is the great poem. (168) • Poetry must resist the intelligence almost successfully. (171)

  40. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • The body is the great poem. (168) • Poetry must resist the intelligence almost successfully. (171) • Eventually an imaginary world is entirely without interest. (175)

  41. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • The body is the great poem. (168) • Poetry must resist the intelligence almost successfully. (171) • Eventually an imaginary world is entirely without interest. (175) • I have no life except in poetry. No doubt that would be true if my whole life was free for poetry. (175)

  42. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • The body is the great poem. (168) • Poetry must resist the intelligence almost successfully. (171) • Eventually an imaginary world is entirely without interest. (175) • I have no life except in poetry. No doubt that would be true if my whole life was free for poetry. (175) • There is a nature that absorbs the mixedness of metaphors. (176)

  43. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • The body is the great poem. (168) • Poetry must resist the intelligence almost successfully. (171) • Eventually an imaginary world is entirely without interest. (175) • I have no life except in poetry. No doubt that would be true if my whole life was free for poetry. (175) • There is a nature that absorbs the mixedness of metaphors. (176) • There is nothing in the world greater than reality. In this predicament we have to accept reality itself as the only genius. (177)

  44. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • The body is the great poem. (168) • Poetry must resist the intelligence almost successfully. (171) • Eventually an imaginary world is entirely without interest. (175) • I have no life except in poetry. No doubt that would be true if my whole life was free for poetry. (175) • There is a nature that absorbs the mixedness of metaphors. (176) • There is nothing in the world greater than reality. In this predicament we have to accept reality itself as the only genius. (177) • Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor. (179)

  45. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • The body is the great poem. (168) • Poetry must resist the intelligence almost successfully. (171) • Eventually an imaginary world is entirely without interest. (175) • I have no life except in poetry. No doubt that would be true if my whole life was free for poetry. (175) • There is a nature that absorbs the mixedness of metaphors. (176) • There is nothing in the world greater than reality. In this predicament we have to accept reality itself as the only genius. (177) • Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor. (179) • Imagination is the only genius. (179)

  46. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • The body is the great poem. (168) • Poetry must resist the intelligence almost successfully. (171) • Eventually an imaginary world is entirely without interest. (175) • I have no life except in poetry. No doubt that would be true if my whole life was free for poetry. (175) • There is a nature that absorbs the mixedness of metaphors. (176) • There is nothing in the world greater than reality. In this predicament we have to accept reality itself as the only genius. (177) • Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor. (179) • Imagination is the only genius. (179) • In the long run the truth does not matter) (180)

  47. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • The body is the great poem. (168) • Poetry must resist the intelligence almost successfully. (171) • Eventually an imaginary world is entirely without interest. (175) • I have no life except in poetry. No doubt that would be true if my whole life was free for poetry. (175) • There is a nature that absorbs the mixedness of metaphors. (176) • There is nothing in the world greater than reality. In this predicament we have to accept reality itself as the only genius. (177) • Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor. (179) • Imagination is the only genius. (179) • In the long run the truth does not matter. (180)

  48. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • The body is the great poem. (168) • Poetry must resist the intelligence almost successfully. (171) • Eventually an imaginary world is entirely without interest. (175) • I have no life except in poetry. No doubt that would be true if my whole life was free for poetry. (175) • There is a nature that absorbs the mixedness of metaphors. (176) • There is nothing in the world greater than reality. In this predicament we have to accept reality itself as the only genius. (177) • Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor. (179) • Imagination is the only genius. (179) • In the long run the truth does not matter (180)

  49. Wallace Stevens, “Adagia” (from Opus Posthumous) • The body is the great poem. (168) • Poetry must resist the intelligence almost successfully. (171) • Eventually an imaginary world is entirely without interest. (175) • I have no life except in poetry. No doubt that would be true if my whole life was free for poetry. (175) • There is a nature that absorbs the mixedness of metaphors. (176) • There is nothing in the world greater than reality. In this predicament we have to accept reality itself as the only genius. (177) • Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor. (179) • Imagination is the only genius. (179) • In the long run the truth does not matter. (180)

  50. Wallace Stevens • The acute intelligence of the imagination, the illimitable resources of its memory, its power to possess the moment it perceives--if we were speaking of light itself, and thinking of the relationship between objects and light, no further demonstration would be necessary. Like light, it adds nothing, except itself. • Wallace Stevens, The Necessary Angel

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