The Black Riders and O…
Stephen Crane (1871-1900) was an American novelist, poet and journalist. He is best known for his novel Red Badge of Courage (1895). The novel introduced for most readers Crane’s strikingly original prose, an intensely rendered mix of impressionism, naturalism and symbolism. He lived in New York City a bohemian life where he observed the poor in the Bowery slums as researc
Download The Black Riders and Other Lines by Stephen Crane free eBook pdf mobi epub mp3 fb2 CD txt doc kindle Ibook iOS:
Download The Black Riders and Other Lines by Stephen Crane eBook Free:
The Black Riders and Other Lines by Stephen Crane.pdf (USD-0.00)The Black Riders and Other Lines by Stephen Crane.epub (USD-0.00)The Black Riders and Other Lines by Stephen Crane.doc (USD-0.00)The Black Riders and Other Lines by Stephen Crane.txt (USD-0.00)The Black Riders and Other Lines by Stephen Crane.mobi (USD-0.00)
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
Having read novels and short stories by the late 19th century American author, Stephen Crane, I had nonetheless heretofore never read his poetry. Born shortly after the end of the American Civil War, Crane was psychologically scarred by that event and its aftermath. He rejected any hint of Victorian charm and optimism, opting instead for a kind of bleak naturalism in his writing. I must admit that I found his poems startling. The poems contained in this volume are generally succinct, stark, and
Built a huge ball of masonry
Upon a mountain-top.
Then they went to the valley below,
And turned to behold their work.
“It is grand,” they said;
They loved the thing.
Of a sudden, it moved:
It came upon them swiftly;
It crushed them all to blood.
But some had opportunity to squeal.
I stood upon a highway,
And, behold, there came
Many strange pedlers.
To me each one made gestures.
Holding forth little images, saying,
“This is my pattern of God.
“Now this is the God I prefer.”
But I said, “Hence!
“Leave me with mine own,
“And take you yours away;
“I can’t buy of your patterns of God,
“The little Gods you may rightly prefer.”
Curious, no? What a strange man, what a strange author.