| Author: | William Virgil Davis | ISBN: | 9781680030488 |
| Publisher: | Texas Review Press | Publication: | October 15, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Texas Review Press | Language: | English |
| Author: | William Virgil Davis |
| ISBN: | 9781680030488 |
| Publisher: | Texas Review Press |
| Publication: | October 15, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Texas Review Press |
| Language: | English |
William Virgil Davis is a widely published, award-winning poet. Among his many honors, fellowships, and awards are the Yale Series of Younger Poets Prize, the New Criterion Poetry Prize, and the Helen C. Smith Memorial Award for Poetry. His poems regularly appear in leading journals, both in this country and abroad. His Dismantlements of Silence: Poems Selected and New brings together a generous selection of Davis’s poetry to date. It includes samples of his early uncollected work, poems from his previously published books, and selections from his most recently published work.
Driving Alone in Winter
Driving alone in winter through acres of land
deserted by everything save the snow
trapped in the ruts of the road,
the moon broken by the bare trees,
I remember the days when my brothers and I would fall asleep
in the backseat on the way home.
Tonight, coming home, I remember
the faint light on the dashboard holding my father’s face,
my mother’s soft voice, my brothers asleep,
the moon running among the trees beside the car.
William Virgil Davis is a widely published, award-winning poet. Among his many honors, fellowships, and awards are the Yale Series of Younger Poets Prize, the New Criterion Poetry Prize, and the Helen C. Smith Memorial Award for Poetry. His poems regularly appear in leading journals, both in this country and abroad. His Dismantlements of Silence: Poems Selected and New brings together a generous selection of Davis’s poetry to date. It includes samples of his early uncollected work, poems from his previously published books, and selections from his most recently published work.
Driving Alone in Winter
Driving alone in winter through acres of land
deserted by everything save the snow
trapped in the ruts of the road,
the moon broken by the bare trees,
I remember the days when my brothers and I would fall asleep
in the backseat on the way home.
Tonight, coming home, I remember
the faint light on the dashboard holding my father’s face,
my mother’s soft voice, my brothers asleep,
the moon running among the trees beside the car.
