Elizabeth Knapp

Elizabeth Knapp

  MY PAST LIFE AS A SONGBIRD   In this life, I should have been most happy. Nary a care in the world, save for the constant pressure...
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Elizabeth Knapp

Elizabeth Knapp

Tonight the cicadas are deafening. / Nothing to do but lean into despair / the way one leans into a mirror.

Rick and Tomaz

Four Elegies by Richard Jackson

In a series of moving elegies, Richard Jackson remembers four friends who died in the past year: Tomaž Šalamun, Tomas Tranströmer, James Tate, and Aleš Debeljak

thomas-mcgrath

Gift and Gear: The Work of Thomas McGrath

Twenty five years ago, when I was still just learning how to write a poem, and trying to locate the deeper sources for the poetry I wanted to write, Thomas McGrath’s example stood as a sign post.  Here was a poet who could write any kind of poem he wanted ...

Joseph Massey

Friday Pick: Joseph Massey’s To Keep Time

Usually when poetry turns to the individual and the spirit, it includes love, but Massey lacks even this. There are no accounts of relationships, no “I love her” and “she loves me”. But many other types of relationships are described ...

Ashbery

THE POEM: Jacek Gutorow on John Ashbery’s “The One Thing That Can Save America”

Definitely, [the one thing that can save America] is not a thing that can be found and grasped or a message to be sent and read. It is more of a process that we can enjoy in all its inconclusiveness."

IrvingBerry

Friday Pick: Two Young British Poets

Debut collections and Friday Picks: Kirsten Irving's "Never Never Never Come Back" and Emily Berry's "Dear Boy" are recommended reading.

Sasha West

Sasha West

Failure says his ancestors / have owned that property for years. / If you watch it, he says, you can see / their ideas moving beneath it

White

Ross White

The Lord is my shepherd, / I shall not want. I shall give want over // to the goats. The Lord shall tie a bell / around my neck.

Richard Jackson

Richard Jackson

I should have begun with that warning sound, / I should have begun when the sun crossed the town of Houla, / Syria, brushing the bodies of the massacred children. They look / like carefully wrapped cocoons. // Here, time slips down / the side of a building as if it were only a shadow.

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