The Tempers

by William Carlos Williams

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Genres: Poetry, Classics, Ebooks

34 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1913

About the author

William Carlos Williams was an American poet closely associated with modernism and Imagism. He was also a pediatrician and general practitioner of medicine. Williams "worked harder at being a writer than he did at being a physician," wrote biographer Linda Wagner-Martin. During his long lifetime, Williams excelled both as a poet and a physician.

Although his primary occupation was as a doctor, Williams had a full literary career. His work consists of short stories, poems, plays, novels, critical essays, an autobiography, translations, and correspondence. He wrote at night and spent weekends in New York City with friends—writers and artists like the avant-garde painters Marcel Duchamp and Francis Picabia and the poets Wallace Stevens and Marianne Moore. He became involved in the Imagist movement but soon he began to develop opinions that differed from those of his poetic peers, Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot. Later in his life, Williams toured the United States giving poetry readings and lectures.

In May 1963, he was posthumously awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Pictures from Brueghel and Other Poems (1962) and the Gold Medal for Poetry of the National Institute of Arts and Letters. The Poetry Society of America continues to honor William Carlos Williams by presenting an annual award in his name for the best book of poetry published by a small, non-profit or university press.

Williams' house in Rutherford is now on the National Register of Historic Places. He was inducted into the New Jersey Hall of Fame in 2009.

Reviews

[Illiterate · Rating 2 out of 5]

Williams gropes for fresh images and allusions to evoke stale romantic ideas.

[Sam · Rating 3 out of 5]

“The Sisters lie
With their arms intertwining;
Gold against blue
Their hair is shining!
The Serpent writhes!
Orion is listening!
Gold against blue
His sword is glistening!
Sleep!
There is hunting in heaven—
Sleep safe till to-morrow.”
—
“Elvira, by love's grace
There goeth before you
A clear radiance
Which maketh all vain souls
Candles when noon is.

The loud clangour of pretenders
Melteth before you
Like the roll of carts passing,
But you come silently
And homage is given.

Now the little by-path
Which leadeth to love
Is again joyful with its many;
And the great highway
From love
Is without passers.”
—
“I tried to put a bird in a cage.
O fool that I am!
For the bird was Truth.
Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put
Truth in a cage!

And when I had the bird in the cage,
O fool that I am!
Why, it broke my pretty cage.
Sing merrily, Truth; I tried to put
Truth in a cage!

And when the bird was flown from the cage,
O fool that I am!
Why, I had nor bird nor cage.
Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put
Truth in a cage!
Heigh-ho! Truth in a cage.”
—
“Yes, there is one thing braver than all flowers;
Richer than clear gems; wider than the sky;
Immortal and unchangeable; whose powers
Transcend reason, love and sanity!

And thou, beloved, art that godly thing!
Marvellous and terrible; in glance
An injured Juno roused against Heaven's King!
And thy name, lovely One, is Ignorance.”
—
“O Crimson salamander,
Because of love's whim
sacred!
Swim
the winding flame
Predestined to disman him
And bring our fellow home to us again.

Swim in with watery fang,
Gnaw out and drown
The fire roots that circle him
Until the Hell-flower dies down
And he comes home again.

Aye, bring him home,
O crimson salamander,
That I may see he is unchanged with burning—
Then have your will with him,
O crimson salamander.”
—
“Upon this plain, for I it was that tore you
Out of chaos! It was I bore you!
Ah, you little children that go playing
Over the five-barred gate, and will still be straying
Spite of all that I have ever told you
Of counterpoint and cadence which does not hold you—
No more than chains will for this or that strange reason,
But you're always at some new loving treason
To be away from me, laughing, mocking,
Witlessly, perhaps, but for all that forever knocking
At this stanchion door of your poor father's heart till—oh, well
At least you've shown that you can grow well
However much you evade me faster, faster.
But, black eyes, some day you'll get a master,
For he will come! He shall, he must come!
And when he finishes and the burning dust from
His wheels settles—what shall men see then?
You, you, you, my own lovely children!
Aye, all of you, thus with hands together
Playing on the hill or there in a tether,
Or running free, but all mine! Aye, my very namesakes
Shall be his proper fame's stakes.
And he shall lead you!
And he shall need you!
And he shall build you gold palaces!
And he shall wine you from clear chalices!
For I have seen it! I have seen it
Written where the world-clouds screen it
From other eyes
Over the bronze gates of paradise!”
—
“In the same vein we should have apple trees exempt
From bearing anything but pink blossoms all the year,
Fixed permanent lest their bellies wax unseemly, and the dear
Innocent days of them be wasted quite.

How can we have less? Have we not the deed?

Lancelot thought little, spent his gold and rode to fight
Mounted, if God was willing, on a good steed.”
—
“Still I bring flowers
Although you fling them at my feet
Until none stays
That is not struck across with wounds:
Flowers and flowers
That you may break them utterly
As you have always done.

Sure happily
I still bring flowers, flowers,
Knowing how all
Are crumpled in your praise
And may not live
To speak a lesser thing.”

[M.W.P.M. · Rating 4 out of 5]

William Carlos Williams's first collection (to my knowledge). There is a romantic trend in this collection. Both in terms of the Romantics (Wordsworth, Byron, Coleridge, Keats, Shelley, etc...) and the inclinations of a young romantic - by which I mean to call attention to the number of poems that are addressed to, or refer to, women who may or may not exist, who may have served as muses for the young poet...

Your hair is my Carthage
And my arms the bow,
And our words arrows
To shoot the stars
Who from that misty sea
- Postlude

Elvira, by love's grace
There goeth before you
A clear radiance
Which maketh all vain souls
Candles when noon is.
- Homage


His prophetic/allegorical poems are reminiscent of Blake and perhaps even Nietzsche...

I tried to put a bird in a cage.
 O fool that I am!
 For the bird was Truth.
Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put
 Truth in a cage!
 - The Fool's Song

'For the truth is already here: for after all, the people are here! Woe, woe to those who seek!' - thus has it echoes through the ages.
- Friedrich Nietzsche, "On the Famous Wise Men" (from THUS SPOKE ZARATHUSTRA)

He who binds himself to a joy
Does the winged life destroy
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sun rise
- William Blake, "Eternity"


In this embodiment of the poet as prophet, Williams aligns himself with Blake. The missing link between Williams and Blake is Walt Whitman. One motif that is recurrent in Blake, Whitman, and the early work of Williams, is the poem as "song"...

Bring me an axe and spade,
 Bring me a winding sheet;
When I my grave have made,
 Let winds and tempests beat:
Then down I'll lie, as cold as clay. 
True love doth pass away!
 - William Blake, "Song: My silks and fine array"

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
- Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself"

On the day when you is no more upon me
I will write of the leaves and the moon in a tree top!
I will sing then the song, long in the making -
When the stress of youth is put away from me.
- To Wish Myself Courage

[Dave Franklin · Rating 3 out of 5]

William Carlos Williams was born in New Jersey in 1883. His father, William George Williams, was born in England but raised from "a very young age" in the Dominican Republic and "was most comfortable speaking in Spanish, which was the primary language spoken in the Williams's home. His mother was from Puerto Rico, and of French heritage.

In “The Tempers,” Williams's style reflects an Imagist sensibility, though it still exudes a Latin and romantic suggestiveness. The craftmanship of Ezra Pound is notable here, and even as he matured, Williams adhered to Pound's dictum to "make it new."

This volume will interest those who are intrigued with Williams’ development; however, few of these selections have been anthologized. Reading “The Tempers” is akin to eating a Twinkie; it satisfies at the moment but is evanescent.

[Jeremy · Rating 3 out of 5]

Postlude; The Ordeal; Hic Jacet

[Andy Powell · Rating 2 out of 5]

Early Dr. Williams is certainly not the best Dr. Williams however I enjoyed comparing this with his later works.

[Rupert · Rating 4 out of 5]

it’s a three.5 but more people need to read williams so 4

[Brad Bevers · Rating 3 out of 5]

One of my favorite poets, very short book. Working my way through his complete works. Good but nothing stood out here.

[Krissy · Rating 2 out of 5]

My favorite poet writing not-my-favorite-poetry, unfortunately.

[مصطفى الريس · Rating 3 out of 5]

It's impressive to see William struggling like this to find his true voice in his first works. Great to watch you doctor burning your soul in a pot through years time to find your way...

[TK · Rating 3 out of 5]

Still I bring flowers
Although you fling them at my feet
Until none stays
That is not struck across with wounds:
Flowers and flowers
That you may break them utterly
As you have always done.

Sure happily
I still bring flowers, flowers,
Knowing how all
Are crumpled in your praise
And may not live
To speak a lesser thing.

[A.M. · Rating 3 out of 5]

The Tempers is an early work by William Carlos Williams that, according to Professor/Critic Bernard Duffey, "was directed by an Imagist feeling, though it still depended on romantic and poeticized allusiveness." When compared to one of his later and more famous poems such as "The Red Wheelbarrow," I think The Tempers is far more reflective of the romanticism of two of Williams' favorite poets, Keats and Whitman.

It is a quick read, but I cannot say that many of the poems really spoke to me. I enjoyed "Peace on Earth" because it reminds me of William Blake: (snippet)

The Bears are abroad!
The Eagle is screaming!
Gold against blue
Their eyes are gleaming!
Sleep!
Sleep safe til to-morrow.

"The Fool's Song" is also interesting: (snippet)

I tried to put a bird in a cage.
O fool that I am!
For the bird was truth . . .

I also enjoyed his ode to Lancelot and living life vigorously in "Con Brio":

Miserly, is the best description of that poor fool
Who hold Lancelot to have been a morose fellow, . . .
. . . But, by the god of blood, what else is it that has deterred
Us all from an out and out defiance of fear
But this same perdamnable miserliness,
Which cries about our necks how we shall have less and less
Than we have now if we spend too wantonly?
Bah! This sort of slither is below contempt!
In the same vein we should have apple trees exempt
From bearing anything but pink blossoms all year,
Fixed permanent lest their bellies wax unseemly, and the dear
Innocent days of them be wasted quite.
How can we have less? Have we not the deed?
Lancelot thought little, spent his gold and rode to fight
Mounted, if God was willing, on a good steed

The collection is free on Amazon Kindle and well worth the read.

[Cornelius · Rating 3 out of 5]

Great if you use it to track WCW's development through his career as a poet. Still I would recommend this to any poetry fan I gave it three stars because of how I think it stacks up with his later work which is very different and more prolific.

[Alejandro · Rating 3 out of 5]

My first foray into William Carlos Williams. Not sure where these poems rank in his oeuvre, but I just thought these were okay.

[James · Rating 3 out of 5]

Free ebook of William Carlos Williams poems. Like Sour Grapes, not my favorite collection.

[David Anthony Sam · Rating 2 out of 5]

Early WC Williams--very derivative, full of traditional artifice, not in any way revealing the greatness to come.

[Susan Molloy · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a collection of beautifully written poems that are deep, thoughtful, and avant garde. Published in 1913, with help from his friend, Ezra Pound, this is Williams’ second published work.