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The Red Wheelbarrow - Poem by William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

Comments about The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams

  • Mahtab Bangalee 2/18/2020 11:26:00 PM

    a red wheel
    barrow

    glazed with rain
    water ///////// SIMPLY GREAT POEM PENNED
    Reply

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  • Hugh David Morgan. 1/26/2020 5:44:00 AM

    The poem simply stresses the total dependence of all poetry on images. Reply

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  • Wolf queen 10/23/2018 9:30:00 PM

    The whit chickens representing the white man crakes the wip all day as if there is nothing to do Reply

    harvey (8/22/2019 4:36:00 AM)

    and the rain represents the of god on your head

    1 person liked.
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  • Wolf queen 10/23/2018 9:26:00 PM

    The red wheelbarrow represents the blood of black pepole glistening after the rain as Reply

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    5 person did not like.
  • Danny A. Leiva 9/24/2018 12:15:00 AM

    is this poem about beer? Reply

    2 person liked.
    4 person did not like.
  • Bewildered reader 5/8/2018 3:43:00 PM

    How is this a famous poem I don’t understand why is it so revered I don’t get it at all Reply

    6 person liked.
    7 person did not like.
  • Juanita Rosenberg 3/13/2018 7:28:00 PM

    I agree about the reader, replace the video. Reply

    4 person liked.
    4 person did not like.
  • Tom Gerber 8/2/2017 5:02:00 PM

    The person reading this poem is an absolutely abysmal reader. Wm. Carlos Williams would spin in his grave if he heard her read.

    Terrible... Get The Hook.
    Reply

    4 person liked.
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  • Fabrizio Frosini 1/28/2016 5:29:00 PM

    IN ITALIAN:

    ‘La carriola rossa’


    Così tanto dipende
    dalla

    ruota rossa
    d’una carriola

    lucida d’acqua
    piovana

    accanto ai
    polli bianchi.


    (William Carlos Williams,1923)
    Reply

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  • Frank Avon 9/17/2014 3:18:00 AM

    Williams would probably be amazed if he knew that his reputation as a poet is so dependent upon two of his imagistic poems, this on and This Is Just To Say. For me, they are both truly great poems, among the best by US poets.

    Once I was dictating this poem from memory to a class. Except that I quoted the last two lines as beside the five white / chickens. When a student pointed out my mistake, I realized the picture in my mind was so vivid that I could not forget that, in my imagination, there were five white chickens. (Well, there's also the assonance with beside and white.) I'm not sure whether I should attribute this to the vividness of the poem or the strength of my imagination. Even today, many years later, I cannot recite the poem without seeing in my mind five white chickens picking and pecking on the ground beside the red wheelbarrow. Would that I could just once write eight such memorable lines.
    Reply

    Greg Bell (5/31/2020 3:58:00 PM)

    Frank, your anecdote is testimony, innit, to the imagistic power of the poem ('no ideas but in things...) evoking memory & imagination.
    gb

    Greg Bell (5/31/2020 3:02:00 PM)

    Frank, I think your anecdote gives testimony of the imagistic power of the poem ('no ideas but in things'...)
    gb

    27 person liked.
    7 person did not like.
Read all 43 comments »
Red Poems
  1. 1. The Red Wheelbarrow
    William Carlos Williams
  2. 2. A Red, Red Rose
    Robert Burns
  3. 3. A Red Palm
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  4. 4. A Red Flower
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  5. 5. Among The Red Guns
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  6. 6. Red Faces
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  7. 7. The Red Dress
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  8. 8. The Vanishing Red
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  9. 9. I Love Red
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  10. 10. Child In Red
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  11. 11. Across The Red Sky
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  12. 12. A Lady Red&Mdash;Amid The Hill
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  13. 13. Red Lips Are Not So Red
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  14. 14. Red Hanrahan's Song About Ireland
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  15. 15. The Red Poppy
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  16. 16. Faded Red Roses
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  17. 17. As Red Men Die
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  18. 18. My Little Red Car (Fun Poem 30)
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  19. 19. Red Dog
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  20. 20. Many Red Devils Ran From My Heart
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  21. 21. The Red Shirt
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  22. 22. Double Red Daisies
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  24. 24. The White Ships And The Red
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  25. 25. Color Me Red
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  26. 26. My Love Is Like A Red, Red Rose
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  27. 27. The Red Flower
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  28. 28. Red Dust
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  29. 29. Code Orange Code Red
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  30. 30. Mo Cailin Alainn Rua(My Beautiful Red Ha..
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  31. 31. The Red—blaze—is The Morning
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  32. 32. I See Red!
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  33. 33. Dear, Dare A Red Read - Polyacrostic
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  34. 34. The Blood-Red Fourragere
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  35. 35. Red-Tiled Roof
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  37. 37. Red, Red Gold
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  40. 40. The Crowing Of The Red Cock
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  41. 41. The Ballad Of The Red Earl
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  42. 42. The Red Retreat
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  43. 43. The Red Son
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  44. 44. Tanka - The Countryside's Red River
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  45. 45. Red Dirt & Red Skies
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  46. 46. My Candy Apple Red (For Miss S Of The T ..
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  47. 47. Red + Red = Double As Red Rebel In Trouble
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  48. 48. I Love To Be Warm By The Red Fireside
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  49. 49. Red Light
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  50. 50. Red Sky Warning
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Red Poems

  1. A Red, Red Rose

    O my Luve's like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June; O my Luve's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry: Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee well, my only Luve And fare thee well, a while! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

  2. A Red Flower

    Your lips are like a southern lily red, Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night, In which the brown bee buries deep its head, When still the dawn's a silver sea of light. Your lips betray the secret of your soul, The dark delicious essence that is you, A mystery of life, the flaming goal I seek through mazy pathways strange and new. Your lips are the red symbol of a dream, What visions of warm lilies they impart, That line the green bank of a fair blue stream, With butterflies and bees close to each heart! Brown bees that murmur sounds of music rare, That softly fall upon the langourous breeze, Wafting them gently on the quiet air Among untended avenues of trees. O were I hovering, a bee, to probe Deep down within your scented heart, fair flower, Enfolded by your soft vermilion robe, Amorous of sweets, for but one perfect hour!

  3. Among The Red Guns

    Among the red guns, In the hearts of soldiers Running free blood In the long, long campaign: Dreams go on. Among the leather saddles, In the heads of soldiers Heavy in the wracks and kills Of all straight fighting: Dreams go on. Among the hot muzzles, In the hands of soldiers Brought from flesh-folds of women-- Soft amid the blood and crying-- In all your hearts and heads Among the guns and saddles and muzzles: Dreams, Dreams go on, Out of the dead on their backs, Broken and no use any more: Dreams of the way and the end go on.

  4. A Red Palm

    You're in this dream of cotton plants. You raise a hoe, swing, and the first weeds Fall with a sigh. You take another step, Chop, and the sigh comes again, Until you yourself are breathing that way With each step, a sigh that will follow you into town. That's hours later. The sun is a red blister Coming up in your palm. Your back is strong, Young, not yet the broken chair In an abandoned school of dry spiders. Dust settles on your forehead, dirt Smiles under each fingernail. You chop, step, and by the end of the first row, You can buy one splendid fish for wife And three sons. Another row, another fish, Until you have enough and move on to milk, Bread, meat. Ten hours and the cupboards creak. You can rest in the back yard under a tree. Your hands twitch on your lap, Not unlike the fish on a pier or the bottom Of a boat. You drink iced tea. The minutes jerk Like flies. It's dusk, now night, And the lights in your home are on. That costs money, yellow light In the kitchen. That's thirty steps, You say to your hands, Now shaped into binoculars. You could raise them to your eyes: You were a fool in school, now look at you. You're a giant among cotton plants. Now you see your oldest boy, also running. Papa, he says, it's time to come in. You pull him into your lap And ask, What's forty times nine? He knows as well as you, and you smile. The wind makes peace with the trees, The stars strike themselves in the dark. You get up and walk with the sigh of cotton plants. You go to sleep with a red sun on your palm, The sore light you see when you first stir in bed.