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The Black Riders and Other Lines
This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the original. Due to its age, it may contain imperfections such as marks, notations, marginalia and flawed pages. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions that are true to the original work.
72 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1895
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About the author
Stephen Crane
1,445 books1,022 followersStephen Crane (1871-1900) was an American novelist, poet and journalist, best known for the novel, The Red Badge of Courage. That work introduced the reading world to Crane's striking prose, a mix of impressionism, naturalism and symbolism. He died at age 28 in Badenweiler, Baden, Germany.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the Goodreads database.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the Goodreads database.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 45 reviews
November 19, 2022
“Think as I think,” said a man,
“Or you are abominably wicked;
“You are a toad.”
And after I had thought of it,
I said, “I will then be a toad.”
I first encountered this (and others) of Crane’s poems as a fifteen year old, and was electrified. Like Crane, I was the son of an Evangelical minister, whose stern orthodoxy on how to think and live left no room for dissent. Crane’s short, simple, powerful lines pointed toward other possibilities; I could craft my own way, provided I refused to be cowled or shamed. His poems became the pithy anthems of my liberation.
Since then, it has always been his poems, rather than his far more famous Red Badge Of Courage, that have defined Stephen Crane for me. I have read and reread his lines throughout my life, and they have never lost their power.
I have revisited this volume now because of reading Burning Boy: The Life and Works Of Stephen Crane, by Paul Auster. According to Auster, the entire contents of The Black Riders poured out of Crane in a brief couple of months of inspiration that he barely understood and could not explain. This seems strangely appropriate.
These poems changed my life. You can’t ask any more of poetry than that.
“Or you are abominably wicked;
“You are a toad.”
And after I had thought of it,
I said, “I will then be a toad.”
I first encountered this (and others) of Crane’s poems as a fifteen year old, and was electrified. Like Crane, I was the son of an Evangelical minister, whose stern orthodoxy on how to think and live left no room for dissent. Crane’s short, simple, powerful lines pointed toward other possibilities; I could craft my own way, provided I refused to be cowled or shamed. His poems became the pithy anthems of my liberation.
Since then, it has always been his poems, rather than his far more famous Red Badge Of Courage, that have defined Stephen Crane for me. I have read and reread his lines throughout my life, and they have never lost their power.
I have revisited this volume now because of reading Burning Boy: The Life and Works Of Stephen Crane, by Paul Auster. According to Auster, the entire contents of The Black Riders poured out of Crane in a brief couple of months of inspiration that he barely understood and could not explain. This seems strangely appropriate.
These poems changed my life. You can’t ask any more of poetry than that.
February 9, 2021
I'm afraid of outgrowing my love of these poems. They seem meant for young hotheads, raging at God and man. Wonderful.
April 30, 2018
God is an illusion. The universe is uncaring. Crane stands alone, splendid in his bitter truthfulness.
August 15, 2017
Read in The Stephen Crane Megapack: 94 Classic Works by the Author of The Red Badge of Courage.
I wasn't aware of Stephen Crane's poetry until I came upon this book. It's a wonderful collection of short poems.
Some of my favorites:
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."
•
A learned man came to me once.
He said, "I know the way, - come."
And I was overjoyed at this.
Together we hastened.
Soon, too soon, were we
Where my eyes were useless,
And I knew not the ways of my feet.
I clung to the hand of my friend;
But at last he cried, "I am lost."
•
There was a man who lived a life of fire.
Even upon the fabric of time,
Where purple becomes orange
And orange purple,
This life glowed,
A dire red stain, indelible;
Yet when he was dead,
He saw that he had not lived.
I wasn't aware of Stephen Crane's poetry until I came upon this book. It's a wonderful collection of short poems.
Some of my favorites:
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."
•
A learned man came to me once.
He said, "I know the way, - come."
And I was overjoyed at this.
Together we hastened.
Soon, too soon, were we
Where my eyes were useless,
And I knew not the ways of my feet.
I clung to the hand of my friend;
But at last he cried, "I am lost."
•
There was a man who lived a life of fire.
Even upon the fabric of time,
Where purple becomes orange
And orange purple,
This life glowed,
A dire red stain, indelible;
Yet when he was dead,
He saw that he had not lived.
June 19, 2022
• "But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart." •
💭❤️🔥💫
Diesen Poesieband habe ich zuletzt vor einigen Jahren gelesen und nur an die sehr markanten Zeilen noch Erinnerungen gehabt. Da mein Lieblingspoesiestück hieraus stammt, dachte ich, ein Reread könne nicht schaden.
Cranes Stil ist sehr minimalistisch, düster und hat zumeist eine bestimmte Moral zum Inhalt. Während ich "III. In the desert" noch immer sehr liebe und auch einigen anderen Passagen viel abgewinnen konnte, hat mich die Sammlung insgesamt aber nicht tiefer berührt.
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart." •
💭❤️🔥💫
Diesen Poesieband habe ich zuletzt vor einigen Jahren gelesen und nur an die sehr markanten Zeilen noch Erinnerungen gehabt. Da mein Lieblingspoesiestück hieraus stammt, dachte ich, ein Reread könne nicht schaden.
Cranes Stil ist sehr minimalistisch, düster und hat zumeist eine bestimmte Moral zum Inhalt. Während ich "III. In the desert" noch immer sehr liebe und auch einigen anderen Passagen viel abgewinnen konnte, hat mich die Sammlung insgesamt aber nicht tiefer berührt.
January 17, 2022
First, two confessions.
One--I know I read The Red Badge of Courage in highschool. I remember writing a paper on the color symbolism. I remember that I got an A. But I remember literally NOTHING about the actual book, beyond the fact that I liked it and was surprised to like a book about war so much.
Two--had no idea that Crane wrote poetry. I was vaguely aware of his journalism in addition to the novel, but that was it. (I was a lit major in college, so it is actually egregious to me that I wasn't aware of it)
So, I went into this with limited expectations, beyond the fact that my friend rated it very highly. What I found was--THESE POEMS ARE WEIRD! Delightfully so. Really short, many of them almost Zen koan like. A man working through his relationship to nature and the divine in tasty little bites. I described Crane as The OG (Original Goth) when quoting a few--I know that's cheeky and misleading but for someone who is thought of as the epitome of naturalism he could definitely get DARK.
I listened to a quirky audiobook by Freshwater Sea-- the fellow who reads is very animated and veers towards Ginsberg's style of recitation which I truly dig.
This is a really wonderful find--I will definitely be going back to it.
Thank you Theo! 💜
One--I know I read The Red Badge of Courage in highschool. I remember writing a paper on the color symbolism. I remember that I got an A. But I remember literally NOTHING about the actual book, beyond the fact that I liked it and was surprised to like a book about war so much.
Two--had no idea that Crane wrote poetry. I was vaguely aware of his journalism in addition to the novel, but that was it. (I was a lit major in college, so it is actually egregious to me that I wasn't aware of it)
So, I went into this with limited expectations, beyond the fact that my friend rated it very highly. What I found was--THESE POEMS ARE WEIRD! Delightfully so. Really short, many of them almost Zen koan like. A man working through his relationship to nature and the divine in tasty little bites. I described Crane as The OG (Original Goth) when quoting a few--I know that's cheeky and misleading but for someone who is thought of as the epitome of naturalism he could definitely get DARK.
I listened to a quirky audiobook by Freshwater Sea-- the fellow who reads is very animated and veers towards Ginsberg's style of recitation which I truly dig.
This is a really wonderful find--I will definitely be going back to it.
Thank you Theo! 💜
July 29, 2012
Sharp, short little poems -- a each dark joy to discover. The preface to my copy says that Hemingway was an admirer. I would go further and say that Hemingway was a copyist.
April 12, 2024
What an incredible book of poetry. I would recommend it to everyone. When I realized this was written in the 1800’s and not the late 1900’s I was shocked; this was just so enjoyable to read and then to read out loud to all the lucky friends of mine who couldn’t escape my insistence on oration in public spaces. Only bad thing about this was the love poems-they kind of sucked, but luckily there were only a few.
June 12, 2023
Is the body muted, or mutated? That one found "In the desert" (III), that creature, not even human, something which vaguely threatens to become us, an uncanny valley, the corrupted embodiment of fallen man. But of course, where else can he squat but "upon the ground?" Upon a plinth? How close are we to enshrining this deformed figure;--- is that what all the modern and postmodern art of fracture and anti-idealism has meant? Stephen Crane stands with Nietzsche and precious few others, looking forward and backward with alternating despair and courage, toes over the ledge of the abyss.
How can a creature hold its own heart in its hands, and eat of it? Crane knows. It is part autobiography, part observation, part prediction, as all good art is. The heart, that most sinewy of all muscles--- what would it taste like? Can the extinct Aztecs tell us? Can this creature? Crane writes "I said," instead of "I asked." Ever the diplomat, you must hide your emotions in the face of such flagrant metaphor, from the overflowing of grief in a barren, surrealist landscape. Emotion has all been used up, one already sees too much. "Is it good, friend?" What is "it?" The heart? The act of eating the heart? The act of being observed eating one's own heart? The act of squatting? The act of holding one's heart in one's hands? And is "friend" here merely a deflection, an attempt to keep safe one's own heart from this monster, or an invitation to be next in line?
"It is bitter--bitter...bitter" he says amidst a trinity of bitterness, a divine savoring of melancholia. And yes, the one who consumes is a "he," for "she" is love, and "he" is lovelost. But even loss can be loved, can be enjoyed. The SCUM Manifesto was right after all, men lack that which is woman, are malformed without that, men revert to autocannibalism, and worse, we learn to enjoy it, we learn to hate intensely enough to love hatred.
I could go on.
I will.
"Or is the truth bitter as eaten fire?" Everything tastes bitter to the one with the bittered tongue. Christ knew this, stopped just short of commanding us to cut out our tongues when we backbite. And instead of Pentecostal fire resting on our heads, the fire is eaten, a magic trick, a reversal of the dragon, the consumption of draconian laws and truths. Or is it the coal from the fire on Isaiah's outstretched tongue, the Eucharist in its unveiled form? The narrator can't escape the fires, even "upon a high place," where "below, many devils...looked up, grinning, / And said, "Comrade! Brother!" Hell is empty, for all the sinners are here. Crane's theology is not the atheism I once took him for, it's a frustration with how Christianity often instantiates itself, it's a retreat to the intuitive and the childlike. He has the wisdom and honesty to never doubt demons, but he does doubt damnation. Prophet that he is, Crane sees piles of corpses "like a child / with surplus of toys," but the only defense against it he can muster is the soft, the gentle, the arms of a woman. As the penultimate poem states "God lay dead in heaven;" the broadcasted message has been received, Zarathustra's echo resounds, and the final image hurts the most:
But of all sadness this was sad,---
A woman's arms tried to shield
The head of a sleeping man
From the jaws of the final beast.
Here we find a profound refusal to harden, to allow evil to win, to fight fire with fire. It is here that Crane betrays his deepest of Christian wisdom, the call to calm, to non-resistance, to gentleness, meekness, mildness, the call that no one can hear above the clamor "Whereupon a million strove to answer him," the call no one even wants to hear. But we'll perish without it. Without the shade, that insubstantial byproduct of interruption, we'll burn up. Without soft things, we dry out, grow hard, brittle, bitter--bitter:
Tradition, thou art for suckling children,
Thou art the enlivening milk for babes;
But no meat for men is in thee.
Then-----
But, alas, we all are babes.
You can hear the footsteps stop, the heel turn, the slower footsteps return. This is true maturity, realizing one is immature; the humility on display here contrasts sharply with his often haughty fist-wagging at God. But I don't think Crane wants God to die, because that's even worse. Somehow, even an evil God is better than no God at all. At least a stance of defiance may be taken up. If there is no God, then no stance can be taken, stances no longer make sense, only mourning, wandering, searching, all the while knowing that one's crying voice will go raw and finally silent, as God is silent.
[ Original Review ]
Easily one of the best collections of poetry I've ever come across. I may be partial though, as this almost single-handedly converted me to a love of poetry. His modernist organization (no rhyming) paired with incendiary ideas and pithy narratives created poems I just inhaled and still re-read to this day.
How can a creature hold its own heart in its hands, and eat of it? Crane knows. It is part autobiography, part observation, part prediction, as all good art is. The heart, that most sinewy of all muscles--- what would it taste like? Can the extinct Aztecs tell us? Can this creature? Crane writes "I said," instead of "I asked." Ever the diplomat, you must hide your emotions in the face of such flagrant metaphor, from the overflowing of grief in a barren, surrealist landscape. Emotion has all been used up, one already sees too much. "Is it good, friend?" What is "it?" The heart? The act of eating the heart? The act of being observed eating one's own heart? The act of squatting? The act of holding one's heart in one's hands? And is "friend" here merely a deflection, an attempt to keep safe one's own heart from this monster, or an invitation to be next in line?
"It is bitter--bitter...bitter" he says amidst a trinity of bitterness, a divine savoring of melancholia. And yes, the one who consumes is a "he," for "she" is love, and "he" is lovelost. But even loss can be loved, can be enjoyed. The SCUM Manifesto was right after all, men lack that which is woman, are malformed without that, men revert to autocannibalism, and worse, we learn to enjoy it, we learn to hate intensely enough to love hatred.
I could go on.
I will.
"Or is the truth bitter as eaten fire?" Everything tastes bitter to the one with the bittered tongue. Christ knew this, stopped just short of commanding us to cut out our tongues when we backbite. And instead of Pentecostal fire resting on our heads, the fire is eaten, a magic trick, a reversal of the dragon, the consumption of draconian laws and truths. Or is it the coal from the fire on Isaiah's outstretched tongue, the Eucharist in its unveiled form? The narrator can't escape the fires, even "upon a high place," where "below, many devils...looked up, grinning, / And said, "Comrade! Brother!" Hell is empty, for all the sinners are here. Crane's theology is not the atheism I once took him for, it's a frustration with how Christianity often instantiates itself, it's a retreat to the intuitive and the childlike. He has the wisdom and honesty to never doubt demons, but he does doubt damnation. Prophet that he is, Crane sees piles of corpses "like a child / with surplus of toys," but the only defense against it he can muster is the soft, the gentle, the arms of a woman. As the penultimate poem states "God lay dead in heaven;" the broadcasted message has been received, Zarathustra's echo resounds, and the final image hurts the most:
But of all sadness this was sad,---
A woman's arms tried to shield
The head of a sleeping man
From the jaws of the final beast.
Here we find a profound refusal to harden, to allow evil to win, to fight fire with fire. It is here that Crane betrays his deepest of Christian wisdom, the call to calm, to non-resistance, to gentleness, meekness, mildness, the call that no one can hear above the clamor "Whereupon a million strove to answer him," the call no one even wants to hear. But we'll perish without it. Without the shade, that insubstantial byproduct of interruption, we'll burn up. Without soft things, we dry out, grow hard, brittle, bitter--bitter:
Tradition, thou art for suckling children,
Thou art the enlivening milk for babes;
But no meat for men is in thee.
Then-----
But, alas, we all are babes.
You can hear the footsteps stop, the heel turn, the slower footsteps return. This is true maturity, realizing one is immature; the humility on display here contrasts sharply with his often haughty fist-wagging at God. But I don't think Crane wants God to die, because that's even worse. Somehow, even an evil God is better than no God at all. At least a stance of defiance may be taken up. If there is no God, then no stance can be taken, stances no longer make sense, only mourning, wandering, searching, all the while knowing that one's crying voice will go raw and finally silent, as God is silent.
[ Original Review ]
Easily one of the best collections of poetry I've ever come across. I may be partial though, as this almost single-handedly converted me to a love of poetry. His modernist organization (no rhyming) paired with incendiary ideas and pithy narratives created poems I just inhaled and still re-read to this day.
May 5, 2019
I was more aware of Stephen Crane as a novelist than as a poet, but his directness and simple prose really shine in this collection. As is usual for me, I liked his short poems more, but unlike most authors of his era (the late 1800's) Crane mostly sticks to shorter poems.
Here are my favorites from this collection, starting with the most famous of his poems, which is what got me to read the rest of them.
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."
X
Should the wide world roll away,
Leaving black terror,
Limitless night,
Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand
Would be to me essential,
If thou and thy white arms were there,
And the fall to doom a long way.
XIII
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.
XXIII
Places among the stars,
So gardens near the sun,
Keep your distant beauty;
Shed no beams upon my weak heart.
Since she is here
In a place of blackness,
Not your golden days
Nor your silver nights
Can call me to you.
Since she is here
In a place of blackness,
Here I stay and wait.
XXIV
I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.
I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.
"It is futile," I said,
"You can never"--
"You lie," he cried,
And ran on
XLVII
"Think as I think," said a man,
"Or you are abominably wicked;
"You are a toad."
And after I had thought of it,
I said, "I will, then, be a toad."
XLVIII
Once there was a man,--
Oh, so wise!
In all drink
He detected the bitter,
And in all touch
He found the sting.
At last he cried thus:
"Here is nothing,--
"No life,
"No joy,
"No pain,--
"Here is nothing save opinion,"
"And opinion be damned."
Here are my favorites from this collection, starting with the most famous of his poems, which is what got me to read the rest of them.
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."
X
Should the wide world roll away,
Leaving black terror,
Limitless night,
Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand
Would be to me essential,
If thou and thy white arms were there,
And the fall to doom a long way.
XIII
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.
XXIII
Places among the stars,
So gardens near the sun,
Keep your distant beauty;
Shed no beams upon my weak heart.
Since she is here
In a place of blackness,
Not your golden days
Nor your silver nights
Can call me to you.
Since she is here
In a place of blackness,
Here I stay and wait.
XXIV
I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.
I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.
"It is futile," I said,
"You can never"--
"You lie," he cried,
And ran on
XLVII
"Think as I think," said a man,
"Or you are abominably wicked;
"You are a toad."
And after I had thought of it,
I said, "I will, then, be a toad."
XLVIII
Once there was a man,--
Oh, so wise!
In all drink
He detected the bitter,
And in all touch
He found the sting.
At last he cried thus:
"Here is nothing,--
"No life,
"No joy,
"No pain,--
"Here is nothing save opinion,"
"And opinion be damned."
January 24, 2019
Ever since reading "The Red Badge of Courage," Stephen Crane has long been a favorite due to his unique writing style and rich, visual imagery. Yet, despite being a fan since high school, I had no idea until recently that Crane also wrote poetry, for which he was less well-known. I've never been a poetry fan, but when I stumbled across a fascinating Crane poem in another book I was reading, I decided to make an exception and found this compilation.
"Black Riders..." is a quick read, but has a disappointingly narrow and negative view of God, life, and religion. Not exactly a surprise, given the unhappy events of Crane's personal life and tragic death at such a young age, but the bleakness was off-putting nonetheless. So while I wasn't a huge fan of this collection, it is certainly not one to be dismissed for the simple fact that it does showcase Crane's admirable writing abilities. His talent for generating vivid and thought-provoking mental imagery is particularly evident with "In the desert." That poem is my absolute favorite of the lot and has continued to stick with me days after reading it. In fact, I've even gone back and re-read it several times since. For someone who has historically detested poetry, this is a feat in and of itself and says a lot about the Crane's exquisite genius.
"Black Riders..." is a quick read, but has a disappointingly narrow and negative view of God, life, and religion. Not exactly a surprise, given the unhappy events of Crane's personal life and tragic death at such a young age, but the bleakness was off-putting nonetheless. So while I wasn't a huge fan of this collection, it is certainly not one to be dismissed for the simple fact that it does showcase Crane's admirable writing abilities. His talent for generating vivid and thought-provoking mental imagery is particularly evident with "In the desert." That poem is my absolute favorite of the lot and has continued to stick with me days after reading it. In fact, I've even gone back and re-read it several times since. For someone who has historically detested poetry, this is a feat in and of itself and says a lot about the Crane's exquisite genius.
November 3, 2014
Stephen Crane is not well known for his poetry, although I can't imagine why, except perhaps that it is driven by meaning rather than image, and we live in a time when sound matters more than sense. He was, presumably, an atheist, but I think his position, as presented in his poetry, is far more complex. He writes poems that negate God ("God lay dead in heaven"), poems that challenge God for His seeming aloofness ("A spirit sped," "God fashioned the ship of the world carefully"), poems that offer an almost tender view of God ("In heaven," "The livid lightenings flashed in the clouds"), and poems that depict the desperate struggles of a seeker ("I walked in a desert," "I was in the darkness," "Truth, said a traveler".). His poetry appears to be the cry of a disillusioned believer who occasionally experiences rays of hope, rather than the work of a confirmed naturalist. As such, I think it has the power to speak profoundly to both believers and nonbelievers. Crane's poetry is truly unique; I have not encountered any other work that resembles his concise, evocative style.
August 18, 2016
Brother! Comrade!
I really enjoyed Crane's lines. There were powerful ones describing struggles with God, Crane's struggle with his inner demons and a few lines about love. I particularly liked the ones about his internal struggle with good and evil. I wish the format of the poetry had been kept in the original style of all capital letters but it did not take away from the poetry by any means. I gave this five stars because the story Crane's poetry told was a familiar one.
I really enjoyed Crane's lines. There were powerful ones describing struggles with God, Crane's struggle with his inner demons and a few lines about love. I particularly liked the ones about his internal struggle with good and evil. I wish the format of the poetry had been kept in the original style of all capital letters but it did not take away from the poetry by any means. I gave this five stars because the story Crane's poetry told was a familiar one.
May 29, 2021
Intense style, heavy themes. Written with a rather large chip on his shoulder. I'll be searching out more of his work.
XXXV
A man saw a ball of gold in the sky;
He climbed for it,
And eventually he achieved it—
It was clay.
Now this is the strange part:
When the man went to the earth
And looked again,
Lo, there was the ball of gold.
Now this is the strange part:
It was a ball of gold.
Aye, by the heavens, it was a ball of gold.
XXXV
A man saw a ball of gold in the sky;
He climbed for it,
And eventually he achieved it—
It was clay.
Now this is the strange part:
When the man went to the earth
And looked again,
Lo, there was the ball of gold.
Now this is the strange part:
It was a ball of gold.
Aye, by the heavens, it was a ball of gold.
April 15, 2014
XLVI
Many red devils ran from my heart
And out onto the page,
They were so tiny
The pen could mash them.
And many struggled in the ink.
It was strange
To write in this red muck
Of things from my heart.
July 18, 2024
the creature in the desert eating its bitter heart has been living in my head since i was a teenager... it's still the best poem in this collection (maybe it's the nostalgia) but reading everything i can see why he was considered innovative, and he surprisingly had very modern sensibilities: making fun of people who believe themselves unique and special (in the eyes of God) and rightfully calling out vanity and moral grandstanding especially from hypocrites and people of the church, and those with power picking on the weak (he had beef with the vindictive God from the Old Testament)
what surprised me was the air of pessimism lingering all throughout, but maybe that's because my interpretation of the creature in the desert poem is a reflection of the radical acceptance i strive towards (which is ultimately optimistic)
averaging all lines' ratings gave me a 3.2 but i love the creature in the desert so much and my other favorites below:
what surprised me was the air of pessimism lingering all throughout, but maybe that's because my interpretation of the creature in the desert poem is a reflection of the radical acceptance i strive towards (which is ultimately optimistic)
averaging all lines' ratings gave me a 3.2 but i love the creature in the desert so much and my other favorites below:
III
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."
XI
In a lonely place,
I encountered a sage
Who sat, all still,
Regarding a newspaper.
He accosted me:
"Sir, what is this?"
Then I saw that I was greater,
Aye, greater than this sage.
I answered him at once,
"Old, old man, it is the wisdom of the age."
The sage looked upon me with admiration.
XXX
Supposing that I should have the courage
To let a red sword of virtue
Plunge into my heart,
Letting to the weeds of the ground
My sinful blood,
What can you offer me?
A gardened castle?
A flowery kingdom?
What? A hope?
Then hence with your red sword of virtue.
May 31, 2021
WHY DID YOU READ THIS BOOK?
Several years ago, I read a survey book on American literature, and Stephen Crane was discussed. I was intrigued and so added Black Riders and Other Lines to my TBR list, and finally the time was right for me to read a little poetry, and so I plucked this one from the list.
WHAT DID YOU LIKE?
Even though it was published in the late 19th century, it's very easy to read. No flowery language. The poems are short and some are quite pithy. Many times I caught myself snickering, smiling wryly, and contemplating deeply.
While I couldn't possibly choose a favorite, here's one that I relate to immensely.
Many red devils ran from my heart
And out upon the page,
They were so tiny
The pen could mash them.
And many struggled in the ink.
It was strange
To write in this red muck
Of things from my heart.
WHAT DID YOU DISLIKE?
I suppose the only dislike I would have is that the collection is far too short.
DO YOU RECOMMEND THIS BOOK?
I do.
Several years ago, I read a survey book on American literature, and Stephen Crane was discussed. I was intrigued and so added Black Riders and Other Lines to my TBR list, and finally the time was right for me to read a little poetry, and so I plucked this one from the list.
WHAT DID YOU LIKE?
Even though it was published in the late 19th century, it's very easy to read. No flowery language. The poems are short and some are quite pithy. Many times I caught myself snickering, smiling wryly, and contemplating deeply.
While I couldn't possibly choose a favorite, here's one that I relate to immensely.
Many red devils ran from my heart
And out upon the page,
They were so tiny
The pen could mash them.
And many struggled in the ink.
It was strange
To write in this red muck
Of things from my heart.
WHAT DID YOU DISLIKE?
I suppose the only dislike I would have is that the collection is far too short.
DO YOU RECOMMEND THIS BOOK?
I do.
October 2, 2024
This collection consists of sixty-eight free verse poems, most of which are short (though a small number take up more than a page.) Crane's poetry is philosophical and often surreal. It's poetry that's as likely to spur rumination as it is to evoke intense emotional experience. Some may find Crane's poetry irreverent because it takes on formal religion and dogmatic groupthink, more generally, but - for others of us - therein lies its appeal.
This collection includes "In the Desert" as well as a number of Crane's other well-known poems.
I'd highly recommend this collection for poetry readers, particularly those who enjoy poetry of a philosophical bent.
This collection includes "In the Desert" as well as a number of Crane's other well-known poems.
I'd highly recommend this collection for poetry readers, particularly those who enjoy poetry of a philosophical bent.
November 10, 2021
“A youth in apparel that glittered
went to walk in a grim forest.
There he met an assassin
attired all in garb of old days;
he, scowling through the thickets,
and dagger poised quivering,
rushed upon the youth.
“Sir,” said this latter,
“I am enchanted, believe me,
to die, thus,
in this medieval fashion,
according to the best legends;
ah, what joy!”
Then took he the wound, smiling,
and died, content.”
went to walk in a grim forest.
There he met an assassin
attired all in garb of old days;
he, scowling through the thickets,
and dagger poised quivering,
rushed upon the youth.
“Sir,” said this latter,
“I am enchanted, believe me,
to die, thus,
in this medieval fashion,
according to the best legends;
ah, what joy!”
Then took he the wound, smiling,
and died, content.”
September 28, 2022
This is a little collection of poetry that I will return to again. The themes relating particularly to God were fascinating.
X
"Should the wide world roll away,
Leaving black terror,
Limitless night,
Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand
Would be to me essential
If thou and thy white arms were there,
And the fall to doom a long way."
Stephen Crane
X
"Should the wide world roll away,
Leaving black terror,
Limitless night,
Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand
Would be to me essential
If thou and thy white arms were there,
And the fall to doom a long way."
Stephen Crane
September 1, 2020
The first book I've read this calendar year that is over 100 years old. This book of poetry is like its own tiny bible, full of beasts and gods and angels and assassins. It's fabulist and magical, and its post-apocalyptic tone holds up well in 2020.
January 27, 2022
Such a strange, compelling, and often head scratching little collection of poems. Certainly unconventional for the time in which they were written, and brave. Stephen Crane was a few steps ahead of his peers.
December 4, 2022
Dans le désert
j’ai vu une créature, nue, bestiale,
qui, accroupie sur le sol,
tenait son coeur entre ses mains
et le dévorait.
Je lui ai dit : « Est-ce bon, mon amie ? »
« C’est amer, amer », répondit-elle ;
« Mais je l’aime
parce que c’est amer
et parce que c’est mon coeur. »
j’ai vu une créature, nue, bestiale,
qui, accroupie sur le sol,
tenait son coeur entre ses mains
et le dévorait.
Je lui ai dit : « Est-ce bon, mon amie ? »
« C’est amer, amer », répondit-elle ;
« Mais je l’aime
parce que c’est amer
et parce que c’est mon coeur. »
June 29, 2017
Crane has a lot of interesting ideas and images, but almost NEVER sees them through to their conclusion. This book is a case study in missed potential.
October 21, 2017
Symbolism is, like, so totally melodramatic.
February 21, 2019
Stephen Crane was able to put all the wisdom of the universe in poems of 4 or 5 lines.
October 24, 2020
Short and sweet. Poems to soothe a worried mind and heavy heart.
October 24, 2021
Well, I understood very little of this and have no good point reference for comparison.
March 30, 2022
absolutely stunning. every piece was vivid and impactful.
September 23, 2024
I'm not much for poetry in general, but I enjoy Crane's novels and stories. A few good ones, generally mediocre. All circle the same themes.
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