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Mark Strand, “With Only the Stars to Guide Us”
photo: Timothy Greenfield-Sanders Whenever the giants turned in for the night, taking their huge toys with them, we were left nothing to play with, and slept under sofas and chairs. The gift of...
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Stanley Plumly, “Lapsed Meadows”
photo: Ron Hogan/GalleyCat Wild has its skills. the apple grew so close to the ground it seemed the tree was thicket, crab, and root, and by fall would look like brush among the burdock and the...
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Paula Bohince, “Pinot Noir”
photo: Patrick Mullen Drinking deeply on the globe, waiting for blackness to overtake romance completely, eyes roaming the faded amphitheater of woods, I breathe in pine pitch, admire columns of pines...
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D. Nurkse, “Sonny Stitt at the Blue Coronet”
Jeremiah Kuhlfield His fingers don’t seem to move as he rips through secondary dominants of “Boplicity,” “Simone,” “Ray’s Idea.” The alto is a golden fishhook. Why such blazing tempi when he’ll die in...
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Dorianne Laux, “The Rising”
John Campbell The pregnant mare at rest in the field the moment we drove by decided to stand up, rolled her massive body sideways over the pasture grass, gathered her latticed spine, curved ribs...
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Julie Choffel, “Cardinal Sketch”
Stevan Alcala Rough and literate, your bits made a cheery piece: to try windows / to grate one’s teeth. Keep placidly along the lines of droll translation. Not merely a hat of polite passage, but a...
View ArticleStephen Burt, “Hyperborea”
after Pindar Once past the man-high teeth and the disintegrating ice that separate human lands from the gods’ secret territory, what Herakles found was nothing on first sight worth even half a breath...
View ArticleSophie Cabot Black, “Summit”
As you rise you must remove any sign Of rising: footprint, a branch displaced, The shifted rock. To arrive is to leave The way behind you unchanged, as the cold dawn Picks over what is left. Up in...
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Allan Peterson, “More”
photo via Poetry Foundation We want more, but more is an emergent property. It comes for you out of the same constiutents as when you were nothing but them yourself, from the unspoken, the far place...
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Linda Pastan, “Q and A”
photo: Margaretta K. Mitchell I thought I couldn’t be surprised: “Do you write on a computer?” someone asks, and “Who are your favorite poets?” and “How much do you revise?” But when the very young...
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