Philip Levine Poems (94 Poems)
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Animals Are Passing From Our Lives (Philip Levine Poems)
It’s wonderful how I jog on four honed-down ivory toes my massive buttocks slipping like oiled parts with each light step. I’m to market. I can smell the sour, grooved block, I can smell the blade that opens the hole … Continue reading
Clouds Above The Sea (Philip Levine Poems)
My father and mother, two tiny figures, side by side, facing the clouds that move in from the Atlantic. August, ’33. The whole weight of the rain to come, the weight of all that has fallen on their houses gathers … Continue reading
Belle Isle, 1949 (Philip Levine Poems)
We stripped in the first warm spring night and ran down into the Detroit River to baptize ourselves in the brine of car parts, dead fish, stolen bicycles, melted snow. I remember going under hand in hand with a Polish … Continue reading
The House (Philip Levine Poems)
This poem has a door, a locked door, and curtains drawn against the day, but at night the lights come on, one in each room, and the neighbors swear they hear music and the sound of dancing. These days the … Continue reading
Something Has Fallen (Philip Levine Poems)
Something has fallen wordlessly and holds still on the black driveway. You find it, like a jewel, among the empty bottles and cans where the dogs toppled the garbage. You pick it up, not sure if it is stone or … Continue reading
Noon (Philip Levine Poems)
I bend to the ground to catch something whispered, urgent, drifting across the ditches. The heaviness of flies stuttering in orbit, dirt ripening, the sweat of eggs. There are small streams the width ofa thumb running in the villages of … Continue reading
A Sleepless Night (Philip Levine Poems)
April, and the last of the plum blossoms scatters on the black grass before dawn. The sycamore, the lime, the struck pine inhale the first pale hints of sky. An iron day, I think, yet it will come dazzling, the … Continue reading
The End Of Your Life (Philip Levine Poems)
First light. This misted field is the world, that man slipping the greased bolt back and forth, that man tunneled with blood the dark smudges of whose eyes call for sleep, calls for quiet, and the woman down your line, … Continue reading
The Rains (Philip Levine Poems)
The river rises and the rains keep coming. My Papa says it can’t flood for the water can run away as fast as it comes down. I believe him because he’s Papa and because I’m afraid ofwater I know I … Continue reading
Fist (Philip Levine Poems)
Iron growing in the dark, it dreams all night long and will not work. A flower that hates God, a child tearing at itself, this one closes on nothing. Friday, late, Detroit Transmission. If I live forever, the first clouded … Continue reading
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