For Ireland, Portugal and Hungary, from Poetry, December 2014.
from Surveillance Notes / by Bill Manhire
In Sweden, they whispered all winter,
counting the frozen minutes.
21st-Century Poetry
DPF / Gavin
For languages, from Poetry, December 2014. The whole poem can be found at:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/249110
from Strindberg Gray / by Knar Gavin
Excess was for days when my mother sat turning grape leaves
with three sets of pockets: Turkish, English, & Armenian, plus lemon to dry it all out.
DPF / Xu
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
DPF / Strand
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.
DPF / Mikhail
For Sumerians, from Poetry, December 2014.
from My Grandmother’s Grave / by Dunya Mikhail
its codes crumbs of songs
leftover for the birds
DPF / Young
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
DPF / Sutzkever
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
This blade of grass is now my world, my miniature home,
where children play the fiddle in a line on fire.
DPF / Hirsch
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
DPF / Harris
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.
DPF / Dashevsky
For Odysseus, from Poetry, The Translation Issue, November 2014.
from From ‘Ithaca’ / by Grigori Dashevsky, translated by Valzhyna Mort
the seer leaves his footprints on the roofs
as he walks home from the future
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 