For seasons, from Poetry, December 2014. The poem will be up on poetryfoundation.org when the December issue posts.
from The Forecast / by Wendy Xu b. 1987
little shimmer, little wilt startled
from out the arranging field
For seasons, from Poetry, December 2014. The poem will be up on poetryfoundation.org when the December issue posts.
from The Forecast / by Wendy Xu b. 1987
little shimmer, little wilt startled
from out the arranging field
So sad to see that Mark Strand died yesterday. Thankful he lived through this last Thanksgiving. Love this one from his book, The Weather of Words. Here’s a small part of it.
from Narrative Poetry / by Mark Strand
I wanted to remind them that the narrative poem takes the place of an absent narrative and is always absorbing the other’s absence so it can be named, and, at the same time, relinquishing its own presence to the awful solitudes of forgetfulness.
For Sumerians, from Poetry, December 2014.
from My Grandmother’s Grave / by Dunya Mikhail
its codes crumbs of songs
leftover for the birds
For Ms. Stein, from The Academy of American Poets.
from Do What Now / by Mike Young
We are things embarrassing, strange, and hang around
feeling everything things
For cranberry bogs south of Boston, through which William rode on a train as a child. Without cranberry bogs, no cranberries to mingle memory and present moment. From Poetry, November 2014, The Translation Issue. What is more in translation than memory?
from The Blade of Grass from Ponar / by Abraham Sutzkever (1913-2010), t
For Thanksgiving Eve, from children’s poet, Rowena Bastin Bennett at http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176451#poem.
from Thanksgiving Magic / by Rowena Bastin Bennett b. 1896
For the 60’s, from American Poets, Fall-Winter 2014.
from City Lights 1961 / by Diane di Prima b. 1934
How many late nights did we haunt the Store
buying scads of new poems from all corners of the earth
A prayer, from Poem A Day, Vol. 2, edited by Laurie Sheck.
from Song of the Sky Loom / a Tewa Song, translated by Herbert Joseph Spinders
Then weave for us a garment of brightness;
May the warp be the white light of morning
For grief, from American Poets, Fall-Winter 2014.
from, from Gabriel / by Edward Hirsch b. 1950
The evening with its lamps burning
The night with its head in its hands
For bread and puddles, from Poetry, September, 2014.
from enough food and a mom / by Francine J. Harris
They ghost like the bushel of a snowflower.
Everyone is dead. now. says, the ghost.
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