For saltimbanques, from The Poetry of Surrealism, edited by Michael Benedikt.
from Phantom of the Clouds / by Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918) translated by Michael Benedikt
A tiny spirit without the least human burden
Everybody thought
And this music of shapes and forms
Drowned out that of the mechanical organ
Ground out by the man with his face covered with his own ancestors
For love and wine, from Selected Translations, by W.S. Merwin.
from The moon which the sky never saw / by Rumi (1207-1273) 1974, translated with Talat Halman
the glory of Tabriz
is the sun that hearts follow
like clouds
For James Tate who died last night. Audio and visual of the complete poem, a fragment of his life, below. Will miss your live voice out and about in this world.
Of Whom Am I Afraid / by James Tate (1943–2015)
https://splitwindow.wordpress.com/2013/12/08/of-whom-am-i-afraid-james-tate/
For anything can be a sign, from American Poetry Review, July/August 2015.
from Signs / by Jennifer Chang
The light above us,
my son decides, is an erratic bird.
For every heart in Tenejapa, from Selected Translations, by WS Merwin.
from Story of the Eaters / by Anyonymous (Tzeltal, Tenejapa) 1971, from a literal translation by Katherine B. Branstetter’s informant Santiago Mendes Zapata
Those who pray and burn candles to God himself
So the eaters won’t eat them.
For unrequited love, from Poetry Soup. The rest of the poem may be found here:
http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poems/best/francesco_petrarch
from Though She Be Less Severe, He is Still Not Contented and Tranquil at Heart / by Francesco Petrarch (1304–1374)
For the JFK roses blooming under the front window, from Poetry, June 2015.
from The Last Luxury, JFK, Jr. / by Alex Dimitrov
Born of the sun, we traveled a short while toward the sun.
Where there were seasons and sky. Where there were monuments.
Like a single engine plane in a July haze.
For a yesterday I’ll call today, from Poetry, July/August 2015.
from Memento / by Lily Cao
We might have been twins, I born in May
and she of the blistered January
For happy 4th to you! From Poetry Foundation.
from Firework / by Stacie Cassarino
I was a keeper of breath,
of hay. I walked a field, collecting bones.
For a field of burning stars, from The American Poetry Review, July/August 2015.
from Mass / by R.A. Villanueva
her son colors in a book of
heralds and dragons, traces his palm.
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