Today would have been the birthday of William Carlos Williams (1883-1963), the doctor and poet who lived and practiced medicine in Rutherford, New Jersey for most of his days, when he wasn’t sneaking over to Manhattan or points thereabout to consort with other creative minds. Williams gave us the rain-glazed red wheelbarrow and the white chickens, and the great opening line of “To Elsie” -- The pure products of America go crazy....
Williams has always been one of my favorites among the dead poets' society, and if you ever have a chance to read his autobiography, it offers an interesting glimpse of what it was like to attend medical school in the early 20th century. And these Renoir plums are in honor of Williams' so-sweet, so-cold icebox ones from "This is Just to Say."
