It has been said the 'place' of American poetry--Is the beach, the line between the land and sea.
Im using the East Hampton, Long Island, Bay Beach and Ocean here.
Here is Stevens in Decorations in a -- Cemetery
In the far South the sun of autumn is passing
Like Walt Whitman walking along a ruddy shore.
He is singing and chanting the things that are part of him,
The worlds that were and will be, death and day.
Nothing is final, he chants. No man shall see the end.
His beard is of fire and his staff is a leaping flame.
