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 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 dust of all kinds and train travel, from A Book of Luminous Things, edited by Czeslaw Milosz.
from Vacation / by William Stafford (1914-1993)
One scene as I bow to pour her coffee:–
Three Indians in the scouring drouth
huddle at the grave scooped in the gravel,
lean to the wind as our train goes by.
Someone is gone.
For bells in monastery towers, from A Book of Luminous Things, edited by Czeslaw Milosz.
from An Elegy for Ernest Hemingway / by Thomas Merton (1915-1968)
Now for the first time on the night of your death
your name is mentioned in convents
For fleeting moments, which are all of them, from A Book of Luminous Things, edited by Czeslaw Milosz.
from A Leaf / by Bronislaw Maj, b. 1953, translated by Czeslaw Milosz and Robert Hass
no one will distinguish it now
as it lies among other leaves, no one saw
what I did.
For sisters and for mine who makes the world luminous, from a woman who won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1996, and from A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry, edited by Czeslaw Milosz. A funny one in admiration and in awe of those not fully obsessed with the making of poems while equally in admiration of those who are.
from In Praise of My Sister / by Wislawa Szymborska (1923-2012), translated from the Polish by Magnus J. Krynski and Robert A. Maguire
Under my sister’s roof I feel safe
For cabins and bears, from A Book of Luminous Things, edited by Czeslaw Milosz.
from Destruction / by Joanne Kyger, b. 1934
He chomps up Norwegian crackers
stashed for the winter. And the bouillon, salt, pepper,
paprika, garlic, onions, potatoes.
For red flowers, from Poetry, May 2015. A brief biography of the poet may be found here:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/tomaz-salamun#poet
from Ships / by Tomaž Šalamun
If bees rushed into my face, I’d scratch
at them with my hand and would see
again.
For weeds more green and baby rabbits, from Poetry Foundation.
from Another Sunday Morning / by Carter Revard, b. 1931
For blues, from Poetry Foundation. The rest of the poem is here:
Poetry Foundation
from Jook Joint Saturday Night / by J. Patrick Lewis, b. 1942
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