Poets/Francis Ponge

Francis Ponge

In the collection

4

Halfway between crib and cage the French language puts crate, a simple slatted box for transporting those fruits that fall ill at the least lack of air. …

Francis Ponge

The rain, in the backyard where I watch it fall, comes down at different …

Francis Ponge

Unlike the ashes that make their home with hot coals, snails prefer moist earth. Go on: they advance while gluing themselves to it with their entire bodies. They carry it, they eat it, they shit it. They go through it, it goes through them. It’s the best kind of interpenetration, as between tones, one passive and one active. The passive bathes and nourishes the active, which overturns the other while it eats. …

Francis Ponge

In the fog which surrounds the trees, the leaves are stripped—leaves defaced already by slow oxidation, deadened by the sap's out-seeping for flowers' and fruits' gain, since the harsh heats of August made of them a less. …

Francis Ponge

OCaptain

An open, typographic collection of the world’s poetry — across every age, language, and voice — rebuilt for quiet, deliberate reading.

Browse

  • Poems
  • Poets
  • The Anthology
  • Articles
  • Audio
  • Glossary of Poetic Terms

The archive

  • 41,493 poems
  • 4,155 poets
  • 207 terms

Help

  • Support
  • Privacy
  • Terms
  • Delete account

© 2026 O Captain · a collection of the world’s poetry

“He who creates true beauty ever lives.”