Stephen Crane Poems - With Comments

Technically, Stephen Crane isn't a Fantastic Writer. He does, however have some striking poetry that does fit that particular genre.

Some of which I like quite a bit. Every now and then I look him up for on line. Big production.

In order to cut down on the hassle of looking these up, I've decided to post the bits of his works I found most interesting. To off set the over abundance of not-Cullen writing this will result in, I intend to give a few comments on the works. Some pertenent, some impertanet. Hopeful all entertaining and enlightening. If my comments aren't either, then Crane's words will more than surfice.

Unless otherwise noted, the poems in this essay are from The Black Rider and Other Lines. I believe it is out of copyright stuff as it was pulled from Wikisource. I assume they knows better than to do otherwise. However, if I've done wrong, let me know and I'll pull the article.

Without further ado...

Click here for Stephen Crane and commentary.

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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."

How many people are like this in fiction? Didn't Scrooge look upon the misery of his life and feel content?

Also, am I alone in picturing the "creature" as Gollum?

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IX
I stood upon a high place,
And saw, below, many devils
Running, leaping,
and carousing in sin.
One looked up, grinning,
And said, "Comrade! Brother!"

Now there's a man with self-hatred issues.

Crane, like a lot of poets, seemed to have a pretty bleak outlook on life. Not me, though. I'm positive.

I'm positive I'm going to screw up. I'm positive I'm going to fail any given relationship. I'm positive my efforts to change things will fail.

I'm also almost positive that I was kidding in the last paragraph.

(Quick thought: is he the one who finds the gates locked in my poem At the Gates of Eternity? Or is he the one who directs people there?)

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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.

The eternal struggle between the skeptic and the believer, from the skeptic's point of view. Note how the narrator accosts the man not out of wanting to help the man out of his madness, but because he was disturbed by what he was seeing.

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XXV
Behold, the grave of a wicked man,
And near it, a stern spirit.

There came a drooping maid with violets,
But the spirit grasped her arm.
"No flowers for him," he said.
The maid wept:
"Ah, I loved him."
But the spirit, grim and frowning:
"No flowers for him."

Now, this is it --
If the spirit was just,
Why did the maid weep?

The answer is that the spirit, in his desire for vengence, is far from just. The man was wicked, the maid wasn't. In preventing her expression of remorse, the spirit does more harm to the maid than to the man. In fact, her declaration of love is worth far more than any countless number of flowers.

What an empty gesture on the spirit's part. What an empty thing the spirit is.

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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."

Dad's favorite, and mine too. I try to keep it in mind when I argue on-line, but far too often I end up calling people toads.

Also, the heart and soul of modern politics, summed up close to a hundred years ago. Depressing, isn't it?

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Finally, from War is Kind and Other Lines:

XXI
A man said to the universe:
"Sir I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."

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Tomorrow, I plan to do something simular with one of the creepiest poems out there.