Who is Edgar Bowers

Edgar Bowers (; March 2, 1924 – February 4, 2000) was an American poet who won the Bollingen Prize in Poetry in 1989.


Bowers was born in Rome, Georgia, in 1924. During World War II, he joined the military and worked in counter-intelligence against Germany. He graduated from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill in 1950 and did graduate work in English literature at Stanford University. Bowers published several books of poetry, including The Form of Loss, For Louis Pasteur and The Astronomers. He won two fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation and taught at Duke University and the University of California, Santa Barbara.

In Bowers's obituary, the English poet Clive Wilmer wrote, "The title poem of his 1990 collection, For Louis Past...
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Edgar Bowers Poems

  • Amor Vincit Omnia
    Love is no more.
    It died as the mind dies: the pure desire
    Relinquishing the blissful form it wore,
    The ample joy and clarity expire. ...
  • An Afternoon At The Beach
    Iâ??ll go among the dead to see my friend.
    The place I leave is beautiful: the sea
    Repeats the windsâ?? far swell in its long sound,
    And, there beside it, houses solemnly ...
  • Autumn Shade

    The autumn shade is thin. Grey leaves lie faint ...
  • The Stoic: For Laura Von Courten
    All winter long you listened for the boom
    Of distant cannon wheeled into their place.
    Sometimes outside beneath a bombersâ?? moon
    You stood alone to watch the searchlights trace ...
  • John
    Before he wrote a poem, he learned the measure
    That living in the future gives a farm--
    Propinquity of mules and cows, the charmed
    Insouciance of hens, the fellowship, ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Edgar Bowers

Time 7 Long 7 Change 5 Final 5 Child 5 Death 4 Life 4 Place 4 Joy 4 High 4

Edgar Bowers Quotes

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Comments about Edgar Bowers

Edgar_garcia71: bowers
Edgar_z_lin: weird sv transit q -- if lawrence makes a poor bus corridor, why not move lawrence station to bowers so it actually has a bus connection? it'd also be slightly closer to sunnyvale/santa clara station halfway point.
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Poem of the day

Emily Dickinson Poem
Dew'is the Freshet in the Grass'
 by Emily Dickinson


Dew-is the Freshet in the Grass-
'Tis many a tiny Mill
Turns unperceived beneath our feet
And Artisan lies still-

We spy the Forests and the Hills

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