For our January fog (which I love) whose job it is to keep the green at bay while inadvertently encouraging it, from The Oxford Book of American Poetry, edited by David Lehman.
from To John Keats, Poet at Spring Time / by Countee Cullen (1903-1946)
Somehow I feel your sensitive will
Is pulsing up some tremulous
Sap road of a maple tree, whose leaves
Grow music as they grow
No Auden yet? This one’s for and from Auden and for Ireland, from The Oxford Book of American Verse, edited by David Lehman (2006).
from In Memory of W.B. Yeats (d. January 1939) / by W.H. Auden (1907-1973)
By mourning tongues
The death of the poet was kept from his poems
For Greeks, Romans, and Massachusetts, from The Oxford Book of American Poetry, edited by David Lehman (2006).
from The Kingfishers / by Charles Olson (1910-1970)
will not indicate a favoring wind,
or avert the thunderbolt
For trees, from Poem A Day, Volume 2, edited by Laurie Sheck.
from XXXV. “The moonlight behind the tall branches” / by Fernando Pessoa, translated by Edwin Honig and Susan M. Brown
The poets all say is more
Than the moonlight behind the tall branches.
For dreams and a day for remembering them, from Poetry Foundation. The rest of the poem is here:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175662
from In the God’s Dreams / by James Laughlin (1914–1997)
Another night, and this one
was a bit scary, I swam across
the lake with my head under
water, I didn’t have to breathe air.
Another for winter, from Poetry.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175610
from The Snow is Deep on the Ground / by Kenneth Patchen (1911-1972)
For cantos in winter, from The FSG Book of Twentieth-Century Latin American Poetry, edited by Ilan Stavans.
from Altazor: Canto III / by Vicente Huidobro (1893-1948, Chile), translated by Eliot Weinberger
The sea is a roof of bottles
That dreams in the sailor’s memory
For Tuesdays everywhere, from The FSG Book of Twentieth-Century Latin American Poetry, edited by Ilan Stavans.
from Sonatina / by Rubén Darío (Nicaragua, 1867-1916), translated by Lysander Kemp
The princess is sad in her golden chair,
the keys of her harpsichord gather dust
For the winter garden I’m having trouble watering with the drought’s alternate-watering-day/time schedule, from:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/1783#poem
from Symphony of a Mexican Garden / by Grace Hazard Conkling (1878–1958)
For hammocks and kings, from The FSG Book of Twentieth Century Latin American Poetry, edited by Ilan Stavans.
from A Manifesto / by José Santos Chocano (Peru, 1875-1934), translated by Andrew Rosing
When I feel Incan, I honor that king,
the Sun, who offers me the scepter of his royal power;
when I feel Spanish, I invoke the empire
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