More Fine Words

I'm approaching the end of William Carlos Williams's 1948 volume of poems The Clouds in my reading of Volume II, 1939 - 1962 of the The Collected Poems. I'm taking my sequential reading of the volume very easily indeed, allowing myself repeated readings of the poems I cherish (quite a few) and puzzled re-readings of the poems that puzzle (also quite a few.)

I've just read Philomena Andronica (found a copy online here) and been reminded how stunningly good Williams is at the brief sketch of a figure in some simple action that somehow magically captures the life behind it. You know Philomena was a real person and she lives again for us, for a few seconds, in the good doctor's words.

I suppose you could try and analyse how he does it, but you'd kill the poem in the attempt.