When I have talked for an hour I feel lousy— Not so when I have danced for an hour: The dancers inherit the party While the talkers wear themselves out and sit in corners alone, and glower.
From Ian Hamilton Finlay: Selections by Ian Finlay. Copyright © 2012 by Ian Finlay. Reprinted with permission of University of California Press. All rights reserved.
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees,— if I in my north room dance naked, grotesquely before my mirror waving my shirt round my head and singing softly to myself: "I am lonely, lonely, I was born to be lonely, I am best so!" If I admire my arms, my face, my shoulders, flanks, buttocks against the yellow drawn shades,— Who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household?
Copyright © 1962 by William Carlos Williams. Used with permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this poem may be reproduced in any form without the written consent of the publisher.