Who is Conrad AikenConrad AikenBornConrad Potter Aiken
(1889-08-05)August 5, 1889
Savannah, Georgia, United StatesDiedAugust 17, 1973(1973-08-17) (aged 84)
Savannah, Georgia, United StatesOccupationPoet, playwright, essayist, novelist, criticSpouseJessie McDonald (1912–19...
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Conrad Aiken Poems
- Music I Heard
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead....
Here on the pale beach, in the darkness;
With the full moon just to rise;
They sit alone, and look over the sea,
Or into each other's eyes. . ....
- Violet Moore And Bert Moore
He thinks her little feet should pass
Where dandelions star thickly grass;
Her hands should lift in sunlit air
Sea-wind should tangle up her hair....
- The House Of Dust: Part 04: 07: The Sun Goes Down In A Cold Pale Flare Of Light
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night....
- The House Of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema
As evening falls,
The walls grow luminous and warm, the walls
Tremble and glow with the lives within them moving,
Moving like music, secret and rich and warm....
Top 10 most used topics by Conrad AikenLight 51 Dust 48 White 45 Music 43 Dark 42 House 42 Long 41 Blue 39 Sea 38 Rain 37
Conrad Aiken Quotes
Comments about Conrad Aiken
- Africanpolymath: then i would take the bed lamp place it under the covers and with the heat and hidden light i would continue to read: ibsen shakespeare chekov jeffers thurber conrad aiken others.
- Printmag: the 1965 children’s book, cats and bats and things with wings, was a collaborative project between glaser and poet conrad aiken. glaser sent one drawing at a time to aiken, who would respond with a poem.
- Hblogman: conrad aiken slapps
- Dajmeyer: conrad aiken, 1915: the trenches
- Mbharrington501: when the tree bares, the music of it changes: hard and keen is the sound, long and mournful; pale are the poplar boughs in the evening light above my house, against a slate-cold cloud. –conrad potter aiken (1889–1973)