Among the old men that you know,
There is one, unnamed, that broods
On the rest, in heavy thought
They are nothing, except in the universe
Of that single mind. He regards them
Outwardly and knows them inwardly,
The sole emperor of what they are,
Distant, yet close enough to wake
The chords above your bed to-night
When I think of Wallace Stevens, the first thing that always comes to mind is the poem "Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock." And when I was reading through the poetry in Harmonium, this poem in particular stuck out to be because I feel like he enjoys playing with the trope of the restful old man, as well as the insight that is associated with dreaming. Ever since Lit. 110, one of my favorite images in poetry has been the drunken old sailor, asleep in his boots, catching tigers in red weather.
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace,
and beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots
Catches Tigers
In red weather.
I agree that Wallace Stevens' poems are quite like Dr. Seuss, but I would say it's Dr. Seuss for a more sophisticated palate. :)
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