Who is Alfred Kreymborg

Alfred Francis Kreymborg (December 10, 1883 – August 14, 1966) was an American poet, novelist, playwright, literary editor and anthologist.

Early life and associations

He was born in New York City to Hermann and Louisa Kreymborg (née Nasher), who ran a small cigar store, and he spent most of his life there and in New Jersey. He was an active figure in Greenwich Village and frequented the Liberal Club.He was the first literary figure to be included in Alfred Stieglitz's 291 circle, and was briefly associated with the Ferrer Center where Man Ray was studying under Robert Henri. From 1913 to 1914, Kreymborg and Man Ray worked together to bring out ten issues of the first of Kreymborg's prominent modernist magazines: The Glebe. Ezra Pound – who had heard about The...
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Alfred Kreymborg Poems

  • Old Manuscript
    The sky
    Is that beautiful old parchment
    In which the sun
    And the moon...
  • Idealists
    Brother Tree:
    Why do you reach and reach?
    Do you dream some day to touch the sky?
    Brother Stream:...
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Top 10 most used topics by Alfred Kreymborg

Dream 2 Sky 2 Earth 1 Brother 1 Wisdom 1 Sun 1 Mother 1 Moon 1 Feel 1 Father 1


Alfred Kreymborg Quotes

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Comments about Alfred Kreymborg

Princessekateri: ‘dance’ ~ alfred kreymborg
No_way_but_this: improvisation alfred kreymborg - 1883-1966 wind: why do you play that long beautiful adagio, that archaic air, to-night will it never end? or is it the beginning, some prelude you seek? is it a tale you strum? yesterday, yesterday— have you no more for us? wind: play on.
No_way_but_this: nocturne alfred kreymborg the pantaloons are dancing, dancing, through the night, pure white pantaloons, underneath the moon, on a jolly wash line, skipping from my room, over to miranda, who washed them this noon.
Itzikbasman: dance alfred kreymborg moon dance, you were not to blame. nor you, lovely white moth. but i saw you together.
No_way_but_this: dance alfred kreymborg moon dance, you were not to blame. nor you, lovely white moth. but i saw you together.
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Poem of the day

Edgar Albert Guest Poem
The Killing Place
 by Edgar Albert Guest

We're hiking along at a two-forty pace
We 're making life seem like a man-killing race,
With our nerves all on edge and our jaws firmly set
We go rushing along; with our brows lined with sweat
And our cheeks pale and drawn every minute we dash,
And the goal that we 're after is merely more cash.

We 're out for the money, the greenbacks and gold,
...

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