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The Complete Poems of Stephen Crane
Excellent Book
154 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1899
About the author
Stephen Crane
1,024 books883 followersStephen Crane (1871-1900) was an American novelist, poet and journalist, best known for the novel, The Red Badge of Courage. That work introduced the reading world to Crane's striking prose, a mix of impressionism, naturalism and symbolism. He died at age 28 in Badenweiler, Baden, Germany.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the Goodreads database.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the Goodreads database.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 67 reviews
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September 25, 2017poems about death and religion: 👍
poems about his break up: 👎
poems about his break up: 👎
May 26, 2023
Revisiting some of my favorite poems, still glimmering and perfect. Some of these were not in my old paperback so it was nice to have a more complete collection. This edition, however, had at least one typo where the word “charity” becomes “chantry”, souring the line. So maybe grab a different one. (And the whole last 20% is ads). Such is the fate of the public domain. Still great stuff, the muck of the heart.
May 12, 2012
I ran across this poem years ago and was hooked on Crane’s poetry.
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.”
Characteristically terse and pessimistic. It was interesting to read the complete works. (There are only 135 poems—Crane died at the age of 28 of TB.) His inward conflict with the plight of fallen man and his enmity with God permeates throughout, yet, notably, some of his verse is compassionate and insightful.
Random favorites:
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!”
A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”
Yes, I have a thousand tongues,
And nine and ninety-nine lie.
Though I strive to use the one,
It will make no melody at my will,
But is dead in my mouth.
Once there was a man,
Oh, so wise!
In all drink
He detected the bitter,
And in all touch
He found the sting.
At last he cried thus:
“There is nothing,--
No life,
No joy,
No pain,--
There is nothing save opinion,
And opinion be damned.”
There was One I met upon the road
Who looked at me with kind eyes.
He said: “Show me of your wares.”
And I did,
Holding forth one.
He said: “It is a sin.”
Then I held forth another.
He said: “It is a sin.”
Then I held forth another.
He said: “It is a sin.”
And so to the end.
Always He said: “”It is a sin.”
At last, I cried out:
But I have none other.”
He looked at me
With kinder eyes.
“Poor soul,” He said.
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?
I met a seer.
He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.
“Sir,” I addressed him,
“Let me read.”
“Child—” he began.
“Sir,” I said,
“Think not that I am a child,
For already I know much
Of that which you hold.
Aye, much.”
He smiled.
Then he opened the book
And held it before me.
Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.
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.”
Characteristically terse and pessimistic. It was interesting to read the complete works. (There are only 135 poems—Crane died at the age of 28 of TB.) His inward conflict with the plight of fallen man and his enmity with God permeates throughout, yet, notably, some of his verse is compassionate and insightful.
Random favorites:
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!”
A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”
Yes, I have a thousand tongues,
And nine and ninety-nine lie.
Though I strive to use the one,
It will make no melody at my will,
But is dead in my mouth.
Once there was a man,
Oh, so wise!
In all drink
He detected the bitter,
And in all touch
He found the sting.
At last he cried thus:
“There is nothing,--
No life,
No joy,
No pain,--
There is nothing save opinion,
And opinion be damned.”
There was One I met upon the road
Who looked at me with kind eyes.
He said: “Show me of your wares.”
And I did,
Holding forth one.
He said: “It is a sin.”
Then I held forth another.
He said: “It is a sin.”
Then I held forth another.
He said: “It is a sin.”
And so to the end.
Always He said: “”It is a sin.”
At last, I cried out:
But I have none other.”
He looked at me
With kinder eyes.
“Poor soul,” He said.
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?
I met a seer.
He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.
“Sir,” I addressed him,
“Let me read.”
“Child—” he began.
“Sir,” I said,
“Think not that I am a child,
For already I know much
Of that which you hold.
Aye, much.”
He smiled.
Then he opened the book
And held it before me.
Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.
Read
April 9, 2015I finally went back and finished the second section of this book after a brief hiatus to finish another book I was reading. I mostly enjoyed the book but the first section..The Black Riders and Other Lines (1895) was definitely my favorite. A lot of the work was not what I would consider actual traditional poems..it was more observations about life and some mini fable/riddles. I really enjoyed this section because most of the work was easy for me to understand and I just loved his very astute observations about life. So much wisdom in one so young! The second section..War is Kind was more of a mixed bag for me. There were some parts I really loved..like the title poem WIK, one beginning..When the prophet, a complacent fat man.. and the long poem Intrigue. Intrigue in particular was one that I really enjoyed. A lot of the work in the second section was, I feel, more a testing of new styles and such for SC. Some of it worked for me and some of it just left me puzzled about what he was actually trying to say. This could just be me though. I usually have mixed success when reading a lot of poetry because I like things to be clearly discernible and so many poems just I feel go right over my head. I guess I'm just a bit of a literal thinker in some ways and this isn't a fault of the work per se, just a bit of a failure in my understanding..an inability to make the necessary mental leap. I also think it is worthwhile to read the introduction and also the biographical and other notes in the back of the book. I usually always read these anyways and think they do a good job of giving you a feel for SC and also putting his work in proper context. Sad that his life was cut so short. He definitely lived a lifetime in those few short years but it would have been interesting to see him grow and evolve as a writer. Highly recommended work.
May 9, 2008
I really can do no justice to this often overlooked poet (most read "Red Badge of Courage" in High School, and then just forget about him, criminally ignoring America's second great Goth (Poe being first)and first Emo). Instead, I'll just post a poem of his (or two) to allow his work to speak for him.
1.
Once, I knew a fine song,
-- It is true, believe me --
It was all of birds,
And I held them in a basket;
When I opened the wicket,
Heavens! They all flew away.
I cried, "Come back, little thoughts!"
But they only laughed.
They flew on
Until they were as sand
Thrown between me and the sky.
2.
A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
3.
Places among the stars,
Soft gardens near the sun,
Keep your distant beauty;
Shed no beams upon my weak heart.
Since she is here
In a place of blackness,
Not your golden days
Nor your silver nights
Can call me to you.
Since she is here
In a place of blackness,
Here I stay and wait.
1.
Once, I knew a fine song,
-- It is true, believe me --
It was all of birds,
And I held them in a basket;
When I opened the wicket,
Heavens! They all flew away.
I cried, "Come back, little thoughts!"
But they only laughed.
They flew on
Until they were as sand
Thrown between me and the sky.
2.
A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
3.
Places among the stars,
Soft gardens near the sun,
Keep your distant beauty;
Shed no beams upon my weak heart.
Since she is here
In a place of blackness,
Not your golden days
Nor your silver nights
Can call me to you.
Since she is here
In a place of blackness,
Here I stay and wait.
April 26, 2011
just reread this. still the best.
A man saw a ball of gold in the sky;
He climbed for it,
And eventually he achieved it--
It was clay.
Now this is the strange part:
When the man went to the earth
And looked again,
Lo, there was the ball of gold.
Now this is the strange part:
It was a ball of gold.
Aye, by the heavens, it was a ball of gold.
A man saw a ball of gold in the sky;
He climbed for it,
And eventually he achieved it--
It was clay.
Now this is the strange part:
When the man went to the earth
And looked again,
Lo, there was the ball of gold.
Now this is the strange part:
It was a ball of gold.
Aye, by the heavens, it was a ball of gold.
Read
November 16, 2011The exhaustive collection Crane's overlooked poetry. Always humane and unpretentious, many of these terse poems zero in on the heart of great truths.
You tell me this is God?
I tell you this is a printed list,
A burning candle, and an ass.
You tell me this is God?
I tell you this is a printed list,
A burning candle, and an ass.
May 18, 2007
Stephen Crane is a strange poet. He is not, by many technical measures, great. Some might even argue he's not very good. I think he has a wonderful voice. His poems are quite personal, thought-provoking, aphoristic in quality, and will keep you thinking about God, human nature, war, sin, and redemption (well, less redemption and more sin and war). He has a really keen sense for turn of phrase that stays with you and drives his themes home. For instance, his poem "In the Desert" reads:
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."
You can see how he pulls no punches through usual poetic devices. He finds his ambiguity in content. I gave my copy to a student who really loved literature. I need to find a new one.
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."
You can see how he pulls no punches through usual poetic devices. He finds his ambiguity in content. I gave my copy to a student who really loved literature. I need to find a new one.
November 6, 2007
Though i be credential-less, Crane is the best to me. i could read this collection forever.
XXXIX
The livid lightnings flashed in the clouds;
The leaden thunders crashed.
A worshipper raised his arm.
"Hearken! Hearken! The voice of God!"
"Not so," said a man.
"The voice of God whispers in the heart
So softly
That the soul pauses,
Making no noise,
And strives for these melodies,
Distant, sighing, like faintest breath,
And all the being is still to hear."
XXXIX
The livid lightnings flashed in the clouds;
The leaden thunders crashed.
A worshipper raised his arm.
"Hearken! Hearken! The voice of God!"
"Not so," said a man.
"The voice of God whispers in the heart
So softly
That the soul pauses,
Making no noise,
And strives for these melodies,
Distant, sighing, like faintest breath,
And all the being is still to hear."
January 1, 2016
Crane shows a wonderful grasp of human dignity amid great trial. His fictional Red Badge of Courage hints at his genius for converting misery into noble precepts; but in War Is Kind he brings the art of language crashing into the realness of life and living. Crane is perhaps the greatest American poet never read. It's too bad. His work is challenging and refreshing, all at the same time. Good stuff.
July 18, 2008
Stephen Crane's poetry was a balm to my soul at one time. I carried the following poem around with me for years until it finally disintegrated in my wallet:
"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."
"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."
December 9, 2009
I fancy myself a poet. I've churned out page after page of self-importance and angst. But then I go back and reread the master of the style that I vainly attempt to imitate - Stephen Crane. And I remember that I am just a little man, living in my little corner of the world, casting arrows at the sun, like some kind of 21st century Nimrod.
July 25, 2017
Stephen Crane is one of my favorite poets. He's got this really visceral way of baring a subject down to the bare bone and pinning the wriggling beast to a board and defining it in just a few simple words.
March 5, 2016
Crane's economical approach to language offers all the potency of great literary art in brief, laconic poems. Precise, fast-flowing (often epigrammatic), here is a writer who artfully cuts into the heart of what he means without a word to waste.
July 13, 2008
A Man Said to the Universe
A man said to the universe:
"Sir I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
A man said to the universe:
"Sir I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
March 30, 2019
Crane uses striking images and short fables to depict humans as biological animals in a meaningless world.
October 15, 2020
Onvan : Complete Poems of Stephen Crane - Nevisande : Stephen Crane - ISBN : 0801491304 - ISBN13 : 9780801491306 - Dar 154 Safhe - Saal e Chap : 1899
December 31, 2007
People usually don't recognize Crane as a poet [he also wrote The Red Badge of Courage and The Open Boat]. His poems read like short, stark proverbs...not all of them are terribly poetic, but most include vivid images.
Here's one:
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.
And part of another:
A lad and a maid in a canoe,
And a paddle making silver turmoil
Here's one:
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.
And part of another:
A lad and a maid in a canoe,
And a paddle making silver turmoil
November 17, 2008
One of my favorite Poets
Some of these are witty,
Some are bitter.
Many are Beautiful:
Should the wide world roll away,
Leaving black terror,
Limitless night,
Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand
Would be to me essential,
If thou and thy white arms were there,
And the fall to doom a long way.
Find a better love poem thenthat.
Some of these are witty,
Some are bitter.
Many are Beautiful:
Should the wide world roll away,
Leaving black terror,
Limitless night,
Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand
Would be to me essential,
If thou and thy white arms were there,
And the fall to doom a long way.
Find a better love poem thenthat.
October 23, 2007
I was amazed to learn that Stephen Crane was a poet. Red Badge of Courage...good stuff...blah blah blah. But his poems reveal another world of his creative genius. Usually very short, very vivid and visceral, this was great stuff when I was 17.
October 25, 2014
As the introduction suggests, more like parables than poems. In the context of his times, these are outrageously different. Seen from a century later, they are less striking of course, but also less moving. The dark "visions" of a young man who had seen much.
December 7, 2007
The only book of poetry I own and reread on a regular basis.
January 10, 2008
Crane is my favorite poet.
What else can I say?
What else can I say?
March 19, 2008
Among many others not to be missed...do yourself a favor and read "The Heart."
August 7, 2008
I'm really not that much of a "poetry" guy, but I do really like these. Short, dark and bitter... just how I would like my coffee... if I drank that nasty stuff.
May 10, 2010
A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”
Read
October 8, 2010Expressions of bitter love and brutal honesty
October 11, 2010
This is my favorite book of poetry that I own. I have owned this for years and to this day his style blows me away.
April 29, 2014
My favorite poet, he's terribly underrated.
December 18, 2007
they're great. so are his stories, especially "The Open Boat."
Displaying 1 - 30 of 67 reviews