21st Century American Poetry

DPF / Ruefle

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From The Best America Poetry, 2013: Editor, David Lehman, Guest Editor, Denise Duhamel (my erratum from Duhamel’s 2/15/14 post: guest editor The Best American Poetry, 2013, of course, since there is no “best of” for 2014 yet, since 2014 has barely begun). Love her A Little White Shadow erasures, too.

from Little Golf Pencil / by Mary Ruefle

                     …I told them that in the beginning you understand the world but not yourself, and when you finally understand yourself you no longer understand the world. They seemed satisfied with that.  

DPF / Greger

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Brothers and sisters. And, snow.

from Wind Wrapped in Snow / by Debora Greger

    Snowflake, you’re out
with no coat. Listen. Stand still.
    No one is calling
across a world half-buried in snow,
     Come back, you hear me,
Come back this instant, you forgot —

DPF / Pereira

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For poets, Sinatra, Sundays, 1963, The Central Valley, and poetry, from the marvelous mind of Mr. Sam Pereira.

from Swagger with Microphone, 1963 / by Sam Pereira

He’d briefly say

Something like, This is
A marvelous song
From the mind of
Mr. Sam Pereira,
Arranged by

Nelson Riddle.

DPF / Kumin

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Mothers and daughters. Thank you for all you leave behind for us.  Today, visiting with Mother? And, Anne, who always needed you.

from Where I Live / by Maxine Kumin

Violets,

landlocked seas I swim in.
I used to pick bouquets

for her, framed them
with leaves. Schmutzige

she said, holding me close
to scrub my streaky face.

DPF / Cole

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from Snow Moon Flower / by Henri Cole

as if the dark tops of the trees shone complacently
and a changing light filtered and breathed
against the lonely surface of everything.

DPF / Randall

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Mothers and daughters.

from Momentum / by Cherri Randall

I’m filled with wonder for the things I know
that defy verse, that fill my daughter’s gaze.

DPF / Davis

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Mothers and daughters. from Mother, / by Nicelle Davis

    Through you I am born
again, again, again. In a gathering of light.

DPF / Kocot

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from Whether it says, you’re sick, go to the doctor / by Noelle Kocot

 

 

It was austere in its way, like dandelions.

Unlike dandelions, it bled furies.

Like dandelions, it shed everything.

DPF / Forche

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from Sequestered Writing / by Carolyn Forché

What ghost comes to the bedside whispering You?
— With its no one without its I —

DPF / Ryan

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Mothers and daughters and a prayer.

from Things Shouldn’t Be So Hard / by Kay Ryan

The passage
of a life should show;
it should abrade.