He is one of my favorite poets. I want to read more of his work.
How about my favorite poem about Hart Crane? AT HART CRANE’S TOMB by Glenn Robert Swetman In his mind’s dark, he spoke a frivolous age where marriage of the like was spring, where vitelline worlds of virgin instinct were crushed in the obscene cleanliness of a raccoon’s paw. Did he imagine that his great sun could come trailing yellow handkerchiefs of light, like a queer comet? No, there is something out there that commands, and not worlds of perfect clipping will turn these rotund hedges into maypoles—and live. That’s why the green expands as it reaches. He must have seen this finally. His leap Into the green sea was, aesthetically, clean.
