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  4. <feed xmlns="">
  5.    <title>
  6.        Kin Poetry Journal feed    </title>
  7.        <link href="" rel="self" />
  9.        <link href=""/>
  12.    <updated>2015-03-09T19:19:30Z</updated>
  14.    <id></id>
  16.            <entry>
  17.                                    <title type="html">Self-Interview</title>
  18.            <author><name>Joan Kane
  19. </name></author>
  20.            <link href="/author/jkane/self_interview"/>
  21.            <updated>2015-03-04T15:19:49Z</updated>
  22.            <published>2015-03-04T15:19:49Z</published>
  23.            <id></id>
  24.                                    <category   scheme=""
  25.                        term="namerica"
  26.                        label="Namerica" />
  28.                        <content type="html">
  29.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  31. &lt;h3&gt;Self-Interview&lt;/h3&gt;
  33. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Joan&amp;nbsp;Kane
  34. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  36. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Why did you want to do this interview&amp;nbsp;twice?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  38. &lt;p&gt;The assignment of a self-interview is one of the most difficult things to undertake, particularly for someone like me whose daily face-to-face contact with other grown-ups is pretty much limited to picking up and dropping off my children from school. Like most poets, I’m hamstrung by self-consciousness. I have tried, with notable lack of success, to get friends and family members to do this interview for me. I also debate whether or not to surface some of what follows, but unless I continue to write and talk about some of these experiences publicly, I doubt my capacity to help change&amp;nbsp;things.&lt;/p&gt;
  40. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What do you want to discuss in the space of a&amp;nbsp;self-interview?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  42. &lt;p&gt;I can’t remember precisely what I asked myself or what I wrote about the first time around with the self-interview, but I do remember that much of it was concerned with being a mother and a woman. I deferred discussing the driving issue that my work (on and off the page) contends with: a dream of post-colonialism. The week that I sent in the first draft of this self-interview last October, I was participating in a poorly conceived roundtable on “real Alaskan” literature. Aside from the discomfort I felt at being the only Alaska Native writer to be invited to speak on the issue, there was only one other Native person in the room: a young Diné man, living in Seward, Alaska, who had traveled to Anchorage to hear me&amp;nbsp;speak.&lt;/p&gt;
  44. &lt;p&gt;I happened to run into him last month after a reading I did in Seward. I told him then that I do not think I spoke frankly enough. I held back too many things. One of the other writers told me, prior to our onstage talk, that I would be a much better writer when I “stopped writing Eskimo poems,” and that I “didn’t know how lucky” I was to have been raised in Anchorage, and then educated on the east coast instead of where I&amp;nbsp;“belonged.”&lt;/p&gt;
  46. &lt;p&gt;This is a state that doesn’t simply romanticize and revere colonization as the “industriousness of homesteaders,” but requires us, as Native people, to celebrate the homesteaders, to praise them, to continue to ignore the fact that almost every aspect of contemporary life—our astronomical rates of suicide, domestic violence, sexual assault, incarceration—in Alaska is predicated on the assumption that we Native people are not as important as [they&amp;nbsp;are].&lt;/p&gt;
  48. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What are you writing&amp;nbsp;now?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  50. &lt;p&gt;The group Voices from the American Land has asked me to write a chapbook and have it in to them by May. I hope to have it done by then. It’s a tricky prospect. I don’t know that my voice comes from the land. I think my poems are informed in large part by conflict that continues to arise in Alaska from romanticizing the landscape and all of the feelings of white guilt and colonialism inherent in so much “environmental” writing but I’m reluctant to publish work that plays into those tropes. The poems in the chapbook, though, are about a trip I was able to make to King Island, the remote outcrop of granitic bedrock that juts steeply out of the Bering Sea (arguably the most dangerous body of water on the planet) where my mom was raised until a combination of events led to my family and other King Islanders being dispossessed of our land. The trip, the first I was able to make, and the dynamics around it, were not easy. So, the writing is not&amp;nbsp;easy.&lt;/p&gt;
  52. &lt;p&gt;I haven’t heard back one way or another from Pitt Press about my third manuscript, &lt;i&gt;When the World Was Milk&lt;/i&gt;, so I continue revising the poems and the collection. Last winter, I had my first (and likely last, at least for a decade or so until my children are in their teen years) residency experience at the School for Advanced Research, where I had the chance to write and revise poems with Malena Mörling. The residency provided me with the first real opportunity to work at length with attention to collection of poems.  Malena is a tremendous reader and a phenomenal person, and with patience and kindness she waded with me through a mountain of poems in draft&amp;nbsp;form.&lt;/p&gt;
  54. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;How is this book different from your other&amp;nbsp;books?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  56. &lt;p&gt;The editing process is very different. &lt;i&gt;The Cormorant Hunter’s Wife&lt;/i&gt; had my &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt; thesis as its beginning. &lt;i&gt;Hyperboreal&lt;/i&gt; came into the world about 100 times faster. This third book is challenging me with its proximity to confessional poetry. I’ve always appreciated the distance poems help place between me and my life, and many of these poems, at least in their current iterations, are closer to autobiography than I feel comfortable with. Certainly some come from persona, but others relate more to being a wife and a mother.  I’m filtering my experience less, but I want to respect my family’s privacy, and mine, I guess. And so, in revision, I’m trying to be selective and careful about the surfaces of these poems as well as their&amp;nbsp;seabeds.&lt;/p&gt;
  58. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Outside of writing, what are you working&amp;nbsp;on?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  60. &lt;p&gt;I’m in the last hours of guest-editing an issue of &lt;i&gt;Yellow Medicine Review&lt;/i&gt;, a journal of and by indigenous writers, around the theme of climate change and displacement. In the unlikely event that a teaching opportunity—adjunct or otherwise—ever opens up for a Native writer to teach in the university system here in Alaska, I don’t know if I could consider it. I’m beyond fortunate to teach in the low-residency graduate writing program at the Institute of American Indian Arts. It’s the first place where I have ever felt I belonged. Joy Harjo told us at the last residency,  “this school saved my life, maybe it is saving yours, too.” We graduate our first cohort of &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt; students this May, and it is an honor and a pleasure to work with writers who are challenging and writing against the expectations of dominant culture. I’m trying to find time to collaborate with the extraordinary visual artist Marek Ranis through the Polar Lab collective on a genre-defying project about climate change and displacement of indigenous people. There are the poems, always poems, and I’m working in prose, trying to sort out my complex personal history from the larger story of Inupiaq people in Alaska, people of Inuit ancestry in the north, and people outside of dominant cultures in urban&amp;nbsp;environments.&lt;/p&gt;
  62. &lt;p&gt;As part of that, it could be really helpful to travel with other Native writers to some of the most climate-vulnerable Native communities in Alaska. It’s something I have in mind, but I’m still in the middle of processing my recent trip to King&amp;nbsp;Island.&lt;/p&gt;
  64. &lt;p&gt;And later this month, I look forward to a couple of days at BinderCon in &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;L.A.&lt;/span&gt; to hear from Erika Wurth, Claudia Rankine, and all of the other attendees in an intensive and intentional space for&amp;nbsp;women.&lt;/p&gt;
  66. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What’s on your&amp;nbsp;playlist/watchlist?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  68. &lt;p&gt;Officially, I only listen to the Mountain Goats. But I can’t keep myself from Father John Misty, and I’ve been heavy on Buffy Saint-Marie since seeing the re-release of the amazing movie (&lt;i&gt;Attla: Spirit of the Wind&lt;/i&gt;) about world champion Alaska Native dog musher George Attla, who recently passed away. She did the soundtrack for the movie, which is perhaps the best Alaska movie, ever, even with stiff competition from Andrew MacLean’s &lt;i&gt;On The Ice&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;
  70. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Which Native writers do you cite as your biggest&amp;nbsp;influences?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  72. &lt;p&gt;Joseph Senungetuk’s book &lt;i&gt;Give or Take a Century: An Eskimo Chronicle&lt;/i&gt; broke ground for Alaska Native writers. I wish this book could be brought back into print. Sherman Alexie, Joy Harjo, and Diane Glancy have done remarkable things for generations of Native poets and for our place in the literature of our country. I consider myself lucky to know the poems and critical, community-engaged voices of Sherwin Bitsui, Jennifer Foerster, Santee Frazier, Layli LongSoldier, James Thomas Stevens, and Orlando&amp;nbsp;White.&lt;/p&gt;
  74. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Anything on the&amp;nbsp;horizon?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  76. &lt;p&gt;Down the road, I hope to help teach writing workshops in rural Alaskan communities beginning this spring and summer, and to continue to work with other Native poets to create generative and supportive spaces that build upon and extend the environment of Institute of American Indian Arts, but details are still in the&amp;nbsp;works.&lt;/p&gt;
  78. &lt;p&gt;I struggled a great deal as a Native writer being so far from home; I hope the &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;IAIA&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt; program helps more of our country’s Native people to find traction as writers.  Like others, I envision a great deal of hope and possibility sourced from a growing body of indigenous&amp;nbsp;literature.&lt;/p&gt;
  80. &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  81.            <summary type="html">
  82.                &lt;p&gt;Nakedness is a metaphor for openness. It is what poets must be if they are to guide and lead. We are the feelings for those who have lost theirs; the inspiration for the uninspired. I suppose there are distinctions between nakedness and nudity, but who cares. The words take on different meanings according to context. It is indeed clothinglessness; openness, exposure‚ and at its heart honesty. Truth. Which is the soul of poetry. The words of poetry are merely the artifice; the&amp;nbsp;clothes.
  83. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  84.        </entry>
  85.            <entry>
  86.                                    <title type="html">Polynya</title>
  87.            <author><name>Joan Kane
  88. </name></author>
  89.            <link href="/author/jkane/polynya"/>
  90.            <updated>2015-03-04T15:10:03Z</updated>
  91.            <published>2015-03-04T15:10:03Z</published>
  92.            <id></id>
  93.                                    <category   scheme=""
  94.                        term="freeverse"
  95.                        label="Freeverse" />
  97.                        <content type="html">
  98.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  100. &lt;h3&gt;Polynya&lt;/h3&gt;
  102. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Joan&amp;nbsp;Kane
  103. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  105. &lt;p&gt;It is disproven to me in a dream, the mountain&lt;br&gt;
  106. as weight fixed in place. The lapse of a&amp;nbsp;seal-as-such&lt;/p&gt;
  108. &lt;p&gt;lists, then slips from the deep saline of a greater current.&lt;br&gt;
  109. A figure keens on land: no different kind of&amp;nbsp;mammal.&lt;/p&gt;
  111. &lt;p&gt;One should pull fish from the hole we conspire together.&lt;br&gt;
  112. Once, a girl (south-hearted) grew familiar with the&amp;nbsp;pistons&lt;/p&gt;
  114. &lt;p&gt;of your disinterest: bone on bone in a cold, cold&amp;nbsp;bed.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  115.            <summary type="html">
  116.                &lt;p&gt;It is disproven to me in a dream, the mountain&lt;br&gt;
  117. as weight fixed in place. The lapse of a&amp;nbsp;seal-as-such&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  118.        </entry>
  119.            <entry>
  120.                                    <title type="html">Dr. Huxtable&#39;s Roofie Lab</title>
  121.            <author><name>Quincy Lehr
  122. </name></author>
  123.            <link href="/author/qlehr/dr_huxtable_s_roofie_lab"/>
  124.            <updated>2015-01-14T01:45:57Z</updated>
  125.            <published>2015-01-14T01:45:57Z</published>
  126.            <id></id>
  127.                                    <category   scheme=""
  128.                        term="meter"
  129.                        label="Meter" />
  130.                        <category   scheme=""
  131.                        term="rhyme"
  132.                        label="Rhyme" />
  134.                        <content type="html">
  135.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  137. &lt;h3&gt;Dr. Huxtable&amp;#8217;s Roofie&amp;nbsp;Lab&lt;/h3&gt;
  139. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Quincy&amp;nbsp;Lehr
  140. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  142. &lt;p&gt;Beware the smiles of kind old men,&lt;br&gt;
  143. the brownstone flipped and paid in cash,&lt;br&gt;
  144. the &amp;#8220;Yes we can!&amp;#8221; yelled yet again,&lt;br&gt;
  145. the winners of the market&amp;nbsp;crash.&lt;/p&gt;
  147. &lt;p&gt;Beware the bleach smell on the walls,&lt;br&gt;
  148. the Google search you never make.&lt;br&gt;
  149. Beware the cars at shopping malls,&lt;br&gt;
  150. the shale oil and the minor&amp;nbsp;quake.&lt;/p&gt;
  152. &lt;p&gt;Beware the quivering gelatin,&lt;br&gt;
  153. the sugar added to the mix,&lt;br&gt;
  154. the star who says you&amp;#8217;re deep in sin,&lt;br&gt;
  155. the oft-suggested bootstrap&amp;nbsp;fix&lt;/p&gt;
  157. &lt;p&gt;supposed to lift that rips your shoes&lt;br&gt;
  158. and leaves you prone and on your knees.&lt;br&gt;
  159. Beware the calls to &amp;#8220;pay your dues.&amp;#8221;&lt;br&gt;
  160. Beware the birds, beware the&amp;nbsp;bees.&lt;/p&gt;
  162. &lt;p&gt;Beware the laughter that seems taped&amp;#8230;&lt;br&gt;
  163. or spliced&amp;#8230; or maybe double-tracked.&lt;br&gt;
  164. Beware the well-heeled neighbor aped&lt;br&gt;
  165. by arrivistes, the joke that&amp;#8217;s&amp;nbsp;cracked&lt;/p&gt;
  167. &lt;p&gt;by doctors bearing baby boys,&lt;br&gt;
  168. by fathers checking up on girls.&lt;br&gt;
  169. Beware the grown man with his toys.&lt;br&gt;
  170. Beware the way the cocktail&amp;nbsp;swirls,&lt;/p&gt;
  172. &lt;p&gt;keeping the powder thinly spread,&lt;br&gt;
  173. the tang of medicine suppressed.&lt;br&gt;
  174. Beware the lightness in your head.&lt;br&gt;
  175. Beware his smile when he&amp;#8217;s&amp;nbsp;undressed.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  176.            <summary type="html">
  177.                &lt;p&gt;Beware the smiles of kind old men,&lt;br&gt;
  178. the brownstone flipped and paid in cash,&lt;br&gt;
  179. the &amp;#8220;Yes we can!&amp;#8221; yelled yet again,&lt;br&gt;
  180. the winners of the market&amp;nbsp;crash.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  181.        </entry>
  182.            <entry>
  183.                                    <title type="html">We cried at the station</title>
  184.            <author><name>Gavin Dillard
  185. </name></author>
  186.            <link href="/author/gdillard/we_cried_at_the_station"/>
  187.            <updated>2014-12-31T07:47:18Z</updated>
  188.            <published>2014-12-31T07:47:18Z</published>
  189.            <id></id>
  190.                                    <category   scheme=""
  191.                        term="freeverse"
  192.                        label="Freeverse" />
  194.                        <content type="html">
  195.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  197. &lt;h3&gt;We cried at the&amp;nbsp;station&lt;/h3&gt;
  199. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Gavin&amp;nbsp;Dillard
  200. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  202. &lt;p&gt;We cried at the station,&lt;br&gt;
  203. but it’s okay, they&lt;br&gt;
  204. thought we were brothers&lt;br&gt;
  205. (he’s back to &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;LA&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br&gt;
  206. a ghost in a shotgun (a&lt;br&gt;
  207. tear on the floor)&lt;br&gt;
  208. they thought we were&lt;br&gt;
  209. brothers and&lt;br&gt;
  210. he’s off to&amp;nbsp;war.&lt;/p&gt;
  212. &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  213.            <summary type="html">
  214.                &lt;p&gt;a ghost in a shotgun (a&lt;br&gt;
  215. tear on the floor)&lt;br&gt;
  216. they thought we were&lt;br&gt;
  217. brothers and&lt;br&gt;
  218. he’s off to&amp;nbsp;war.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  219.        </entry>
  220.            <entry>
  221.                                    <title type="html">Six Haiku</title>
  222.            <author><name>Jee Leong Koh
  223. </name></author>
  224.            <link href="/author/jlkoh/six_haiku"/>
  225.            <updated>2014-12-23T04:00:11Z</updated>
  226.            <published>2014-12-23T04:00:11Z</published>
  227.            <id></id>
  228.                                    <category   scheme=""
  229.                        term="meter"
  230.                        label="Meter" />
  231.                        <category   scheme=""
  232.                        term="rhyme"
  233.                        label="Rhyme" />
  235.                        <content type="html">
  236.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  238. &lt;h3&gt;Six&amp;nbsp;Haiku&lt;/h3&gt;
  240. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Jee Leong&amp;nbsp;Koh
  241. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  243. &lt;p&gt;overnight&lt;br&gt;
  244. unexpected flowers&lt;br&gt;
  245. snow in&amp;nbsp;April&lt;/p&gt;
  247. &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  248. &lt;p&gt;going incognito &lt;br&gt;
  249. the forsythia drops&lt;br&gt;
  250. its&amp;nbsp;medals&lt;/p&gt;
  251. &lt;br&gt;
  252. &lt;p&gt;hold your breath&lt;br&gt;
  253. on a dandelion stalk&lt;br&gt;
  254. full&amp;nbsp;moon&lt;/p&gt;
  255. &lt;br&gt;
  256. &lt;p&gt;fallen clumps&lt;br&gt;
  257. of shriveled blossoms&lt;br&gt;
  258. Nabokov’s brown&amp;nbsp;wigs&lt;/p&gt;
  259. &lt;br&gt;
  260. &lt;p&gt;spring morning&lt;br&gt;
  261. the averted eyes&lt;br&gt;
  262. of young&amp;nbsp;girls&lt;/p&gt;
  263. &lt;br&gt;
  264. &lt;p&gt;short summer night&lt;br&gt;
  265. the cops are eyeing the holes&lt;br&gt;
  266. in the donut&amp;nbsp;joint&lt;/p&gt;
  267. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  268.            <summary type="html">
  269.                &lt;p&gt;overnight&lt;br&gt;
  270. unexpected flowers&lt;br&gt;
  271. snow in&amp;nbsp;April&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  272.        </entry>
  273.            <entry>
  274.                                    <title type="html">Languishful Pome</title>
  275.            <author><name>Jane Røken
  276. </name></author>
  277.            <link href="/author/jrken/languishful_pome"/>
  278.            <updated>2014-12-18T05:25:23Z</updated>
  279.            <published>2014-12-18T05:25:23Z</published>
  280.            <id></id>
  281.                                    <category   scheme=""
  282.                        term="meter"
  283.                        label="Meter" />
  284.                        <category   scheme=""
  285.                        term="rhyme"
  286.                        label="Rhyme" />
  288.                        <content type="html">
  289.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  291. &lt;h3&gt;Languishful&amp;nbsp;Pome&lt;/h3&gt;
  293. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Jane&amp;nbsp;Røken
  294. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  296. &lt;p&gt;Tilt-tongued bad taste,&lt;br&gt;
  297. reprehensible, indefensible,&lt;br&gt;
  298. this pome is embodied;&lt;br&gt;
  299. its nights are languishful,&lt;br&gt;
  300. its expectations a zygorama –&lt;br&gt;
  301. do you feel&amp;nbsp;it?&lt;/p&gt;
  303. &lt;p&gt;This pome is not much. But&lt;br&gt;
  304. it lies in wait for you.&lt;br&gt;
  305. It’s strangewishful; its days&lt;br&gt;
  306. are languageful; itself&lt;br&gt;
  307. a grackle, a fieldfare&lt;br&gt;
  308. of&amp;nbsp;words.&lt;/p&gt;
  310. &lt;p&gt;This pome has designs&lt;br&gt;
  311. that aren&amp;#8217;t decent.&lt;br&gt;
  312. Fancylightful, it does not intend&lt;br&gt;
  313. to make a respectable reader&lt;br&gt;
  314. out of you, nay.&amp;nbsp;But.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  315.            <summary type="html">
  316.                &lt;p&gt;
  317. It’s strangewishful; its days&lt;br&gt;
  318. are languageful; itself&lt;br&gt;
  319. a grackle, a fieldfare&lt;br&gt;
  320. of&amp;nbsp;words.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  321.        </entry>
  322.            <entry>
  323.                                    <title type="html">Orange Kitty Bleeding</title>
  324.            <author><name>Gavin Dillard
  325. </name></author>
  326.            <link href="/author/gdillard/orange_kitty_bleeding"/>
  327.            <updated>2014-12-15T16:20:24Z</updated>
  328.            <published>2014-12-15T16:20:24Z</published>
  329.            <id></id>
  330.                                    <category   scheme=""
  331.                        term="freeverse"
  332.                        label="Freeverse" />
  334.                        <content type="html">
  335.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  337. &lt;h3&gt;Orange Kitty&amp;nbsp;Bleeding&lt;/h3&gt;
  339. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Gavin&amp;nbsp;Dillard
  340. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  342. &lt;p&gt;I killed the old orange cat this evening.&lt;br&gt;
  343. After chasing him for three months, I&lt;br&gt;
  344. crawled up on the roof after him;&lt;br&gt;
  345. right between the eyes from not more than&lt;br&gt;
  346. five feet away where he had Bagheera&lt;br&gt;
  347. treed up the great live oak.&lt;br&gt;
  348. Orange Kitty fell and I blasted him four&lt;br&gt;
  349. more times as he jerked on the ground&lt;br&gt;
  350. below&amp;nbsp;us.&lt;/p&gt;
  352. &lt;p&gt;Bagheera came down from his upper branch;&lt;br&gt;
  353. and after, I brought out Marlene, Big Tao and&lt;br&gt;
  354. Quan Yin to show them that the rein of&lt;br&gt;
  355. terror had ended.&lt;br&gt;
  356. But as he lay there with his fur blowing&lt;br&gt;
  357. gently in the oncoming storm, I had the&lt;br&gt;
  358. strongest urge to take his bloody form into&lt;br&gt;
  359. my arms, smooth his once­beautiful pelt and&lt;br&gt;
  360. tell him that it will all be all&amp;nbsp;right.&lt;/p&gt;
  362. &lt;p&gt;I miss all my old lovers, wherever they&lt;br&gt;
  363. lay bleeding beneath the grass, I would&lt;br&gt;
  364. take them all once again in my arms and&lt;br&gt;
  365. tell them that it is not that bad, that it&lt;br&gt;
  366. will all be all right;&lt;br&gt;
  367. death after all seems so unreachable to&lt;br&gt;
  368. the living, so temporary as though it&lt;br&gt;
  369. were but a mistake, a dream that will&lt;br&gt;
  370. fade back into the reality of the&lt;br&gt;
  371. sunny&amp;nbsp;morn.&lt;/p&gt;
  373. &lt;p&gt;But I didn’t touch the orange cat, he&lt;br&gt;
  374. was covered with blood and had been&lt;br&gt;
  375. sick, wild and unreachable as it was.&lt;br&gt;
  376. Instead, I thought of Vince Romano,&lt;br&gt;
  377. James Parcells, Steven Buker, Frank&lt;br&gt;
  378. Drummond, Jimmy Barron, Victor Lopez,&lt;br&gt;
  379. David Lopatin, Al Petersen, Peter Allen,&lt;br&gt;
  380. Bobby Consolmagno and however many&lt;br&gt;
  381. more;&lt;br&gt;
  382. warm warm hearts that had once&lt;br&gt;
  383. beat against my own, now cold lying&lt;br&gt;
  384. somewhere in the shadow of what had&lt;br&gt;
  385. been life, their fur now matted and&lt;br&gt;&amp;nbsp;soiled.&lt;/p&gt;
  387. &lt;p&gt;The cats avenged, we came back into&lt;br&gt;
  388. the house just as the storm was blowing&lt;br&gt;
  389. in from the west.&lt;br&gt;
  390. I thought of Orange Kitty, of covering him&lt;br&gt;
  391. with newspapers or old clothes lest he&lt;br&gt;
  392. get cold and drenched where I had&lt;br&gt;
  393. left him among the periwinkle.&lt;br&gt;
  394. Instead I removed the bullets from the&lt;br&gt;
  395. remaining cartridge and set the twenty-&lt;br&gt;
  396. two across a pile of fresh­folded&lt;br&gt;
  397. linens, to be returned to the&lt;br&gt;
  398. neighbors in the&amp;nbsp;morning.&lt;/p&gt;
  400. &lt;p&gt;The rain began spattering like&lt;br&gt;
  401. gunshot across the fiberglass back&lt;br&gt;
  402. porch roof;&lt;br&gt;
  403. my dinner was still&amp;nbsp;warm.&lt;/p&gt;
  405. &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  406.            <summary type="html">
  407.                &lt;p&gt;I miss all my old lovers, wherever they&lt;br&gt;
  408. lay bleeding beneath the grass, I would&lt;br&gt;
  409. take them all once again in my arms and&lt;br&gt;
  410. tell them that it is not that bad, that it&lt;br&gt;
  411. will all be all right;&lt;br&gt;
  412. death after all seems so&amp;nbsp;unreachable&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  413.        </entry>
  414.            <entry>
  415.                                    <title type="html">The Object of War</title>
  416.            <author><name>Gavin Dillard
  417. </name></author>
  418.            <link href="/author/gdillard/the_object_of_war"/>
  419.            <updated>2014-10-29T16:06:16Z</updated>
  420.            <published>2014-10-29T16:06:16Z</published>
  421.            <id></id>
  422.                                    <category   scheme=""
  423.                        term="freeverse"
  424.                        label="Freeverse" />
  426.                        <content type="html">
  427.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  429. &lt;h3&gt;The Object of&amp;nbsp;War&lt;/h3&gt;
  431. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Gavin&amp;nbsp;Dillard
  432. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  434. &lt;p&gt;I have no objection to war,&lt;br&gt;
  435. the object is to find something worth&lt;br&gt;
  436. dying for, and never country nor&lt;br&gt;
  437. religion that I have known is worth&lt;br&gt;
  438. the suffering, the misery the&lt;br&gt;
  439. disruption of&amp;nbsp;home.&lt;/p&gt;
  441. &lt;p&gt;But once upon a barren land, laid&lt;br&gt;
  442. waste by morality and God&amp;#8217;s greedy&lt;br&gt;
  443. hand, I fell upon a youth with&lt;br&gt;
  444. tattoos upon his wrists, whose fair skin&lt;br&gt;
  445. blackened beneath even the most&lt;br&gt;
  446. stolid&amp;nbsp;kiss.&lt;/p&gt;
  448. &lt;p&gt;And this I thought, as I licked his&lt;br&gt;
  449. blood from the shore, for all the&lt;br&gt;
  450. hatred the strife and the wars, this&lt;br&gt;
  451. when eternity slams shut her last&lt;br&gt;
  452. door, this at long last was&lt;br&gt;
  453. worth dying&amp;nbsp;for.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  454.            <summary type="html">
  455.                &lt;p&gt;And this I thought, as I licked his&lt;br&gt;
  456. blood from the shore, for all the&lt;br&gt;
  457. hatred the strife and the wars, this&lt;br&gt;
  458. when eternity slams shut her last&lt;br&gt;
  459. door, this at long last was&lt;br&gt;
  460. worth dying&amp;nbsp;for.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  461.        </entry>
  462.            <entry>
  463.                                    <title type="html">Alone, To Say</title>
  464.            <author><name>Luis Garcia
  465. </name></author>
  466.            <link href="/author/lgarcia/alone_to_say"/>
  467.            <updated>2014-10-23T03:37:25Z</updated>
  468.            <published>2014-10-23T03:37:25Z</published>
  469.            <id></id>
  470.                                    <category   scheme=""
  471.                        term="meter"
  472.                        label="Meter" />
  473.                        <category   scheme=""
  474.                        term="rhyme"
  475.                        label="Rhyme" />
  477.                        <content type="html">
  478.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  480. &lt;h3&gt;Alone, To&amp;nbsp;Say&lt;/h3&gt;
  482. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Luis&amp;nbsp;Garcia
  483. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  485. &lt;p&gt;
  486. Alone, does not mean abandoned! &lt;br&gt;
  487. Alone, means sometimes, &lt;br&gt;
  488. we do not need to look &lt;br&gt;
  489. with everyday lenses. &lt;br&gt;
  490. Alone, means just a bit more &lt;br&gt;
  491. because next &lt;br&gt;
  492. we’ll be counting a hand full &lt;br&gt;
  493. and then one&amp;nbsp;more.&lt;/p&gt;
  495. &lt;p&gt;
  496. Alone is just a word. &lt;br&gt;
  497. Like a&amp;nbsp;marigold,&lt;/p&gt;
  499. &lt;p&gt;
  500. It can be just one mode, &lt;br&gt;
  501. a way of saying &lt;br&gt;
  502. I am here, we are here. &lt;br&gt;
  503. We have always&amp;nbsp;been!
  504. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  505.            <summary type="html">
  506.                &lt;p&gt;Alone is just a word. &lt;br&gt;
  507. Like a&amp;nbsp;marigold,&lt;/p&gt;
  509. &lt;p&gt;
  510. It can be just one mode, &lt;br&gt;
  511. a way of saying &lt;br&gt;
  512. I am here, we are here. &lt;br&gt;
  513. We have always&amp;nbsp;been!.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  514.        </entry>
  515.            <entry>
  516.                                    <title type="html">A Man</title>
  517.            <author><name>Gavin Dillard
  518. </name></author>
  519.            <link href="/author/gdillard/a_man"/>
  520.            <updated>2014-10-14T07:08:42Z</updated>
  521.            <published>2014-10-14T07:08:42Z</published>
  522.            <id></id>
  523.                                    <category   scheme=""
  524.                        term="freeverse"
  525.                        label="Freeverse" />
  527.                        <content type="html">
  528.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  530. &lt;h3&gt;A&amp;nbsp;Man&lt;/h3&gt;
  532. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Gavin&amp;nbsp;Dillard
  533. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  535. &lt;p&gt;The only reason that I can see&lt;br&gt;
  537. for praying to that Great White God&lt;br&gt;
  539. is to beg in any way that I know&lt;br&gt;
  541. to not be obliged to go to that heaven&lt;br&gt;
  543. where all those tedious white souls&lt;br&gt;&amp;nbsp;go.&lt;/p&gt;
  545. &lt;p&gt;I pray Thee, Lord, don&amp;#8217;t make me stay&lt;br&gt;
  547. through eternity with antiseptic throngs of&lt;br&gt;
  549. Methodists, Lutherans, Presbyterians,&lt;br&gt;
  551. Jehovah&amp;#8217;s Witnesses, or whoever wins (I&lt;br&gt;
  553. don&amp;#8217;t think there&amp;#8217;s any question about the&lt;br&gt;
  555. Mormons or&amp;nbsp;Catholics);&lt;/p&gt;
  557. &lt;p&gt;I want to be lost with those who sin&lt;br&gt;
  559. for all of time since time begins,&lt;br&gt;
  561. through all the ages now and to come,&lt;br&gt;
  563. I want to dance with every one&lt;br&gt;
  565. in flames of passion, grief and lust&lt;br&gt;
  567. and reminisce our days of&amp;nbsp;dust!&lt;/p&gt;
  569. &lt;p&gt;O Lord, the god of all great saints,&lt;br&gt;
  571. I&amp;#8217;ll tell you now I&amp;#8217;ve been a whore&lt;br&gt;
  573. a murderer a thief and drunk; I&amp;#8217;ve&lt;br&gt;
  575. wallowed through Pandora&amp;#8217;s trunk and&lt;br&gt;
  577. cannot say that I&amp;#8217;d amend (for sure&lt;br&gt;
  579. I&amp;#8217;d do it all&amp;nbsp;again).&lt;/p&gt;
  581. &lt;p&gt;So let me dance and let me burn&lt;br&gt;
  583. as all this universe doth churn,&lt;br&gt;
  585. and when eternity is done&lt;br&gt;
  587. at last at least I had my&amp;nbsp;fun.&lt;/p&gt;
  589. &lt;p&gt;Amen. All men. O man. A&amp;nbsp;man.&lt;/p&gt;
  591. &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  592.            <summary type="html">
  593.                &lt;p&gt;So let me dance and let me burn&lt;br&gt;
  595. as all this universe doth churn,&lt;br&gt;
  597. and when eternity is done&lt;br&gt;
  599. at last at least I had my&amp;nbsp;fun.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  600.        </entry>
  601.            <entry>
  602.                                    <title type="html">Self-Interview</title>
  603.            <author><name>Gavin Dillard
  604. </name></author>
  605.            <link href="/author/gdillard/self_interview"/>
  606.            <updated>2014-10-14T07:03:28Z</updated>
  607.            <published>2014-10-14T07:03:28Z</published>
  608.            <id></id>
  609.                                    <category   scheme=""
  610.                        term="namerica"
  611.                        label="Namerica" />
  613.                        <content type="html">
  614.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  616. &lt;h3&gt;Self-Interview&lt;/h3&gt;
  618. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Gavin&amp;nbsp;Dillard
  619. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  621. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Gavin Geoffrey Dillard, can you tell us a little about yourself? A few of the dirty details. Your ancestry. Your parents&amp;#8217; names. How they felt about their boy leaving for New York City? Why New York? Why art school in California? Your roommates in&amp;nbsp;college?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  623. &lt;p&gt;I was born in Asheville. I ran away to the North Carolina School of the Arts and made them accept me for high school—it&amp;#8217;s the only way I would have survived high school. While in high school, our English class was/were asked to write a poem. I guess mine was brilliant, because the teacher, himself a published poet, removed me from high school English and spent the next two years tutoring me in poetry and the classics. At some point he, Alton Busbee, showed my work to Jonathan Williams, a poet from the famed Black Mountain College and publisher of Jargon Press, who in turn sent my work to Ian Young (Catalyst Press) in Canada; Ian brought me to New York to meet the Ginsbergs et al, and published my first two&amp;nbsp;collections.&lt;/p&gt;
  625. &lt;p&gt;My parents were dazzled by all I did. They occasionally fussed, but caved with enough threats and pressure. They had their own disfunction&amp;#8217;s to&amp;nbsp;manage.&lt;/p&gt;
  627. &lt;p&gt;I ended up at Cal Arts simply because several of my friends from &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;NCSA&lt;/span&gt; had been accepted there. It was a very young and happening school at the time. And it was just outside of Hollywood—which is where I wanted to be! My suite mate was Paul Rubenfeld, who went on to become Pee Wee. Tim Burton, of course, was there, as well as all the creators of Pee Wee&amp;#8217;s&amp;nbsp;Playhouse.&lt;/p&gt;
  629. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Why poetry? What drew you to writing poetry in the first place? The music of words? The placement of images? Feel free to cast a spell and let it all hang out here, so to&amp;nbsp;speak…&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  631. &lt;p&gt;I was a poet in numerous lifetimes. I believe I was Ono no Komachi. Dickinson and Blake are both contenders as well. My mother, an English major, taught me to write well before first grade. By first grade I had already compiled a wee volume of koans and wisdom sayings. &lt;i&gt;Poor Richard&amp;#8217;s Almanac&lt;/i&gt; became my favorite childhood book—tho my internal influences were clearly of Asian&amp;nbsp;descent.&lt;/p&gt;
  633. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;dquo&#34;&gt;&amp;#8220;&lt;/span&gt;Why poetry?&amp;#8221; I&amp;#8217;m afraid I don&amp;#8217;t understand the&amp;nbsp;question.&lt;/p&gt;
  635. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;In one of your previous incarnations, you were known as the “Naked Poet.” What is a naked poet? How would you define nakedness? How does it differ from nudity? It seems more than a question of clothing to me. How does the idea of nakedness work its way in and out of your poetry? Why do you think it is&amp;nbsp;important?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  637. &lt;p&gt;In Hollywood, I created a public Sunday salon that became frightfully successful. All the cool people were there every week—Tim Burton, Hockney, Blondie, Tim Leary … it was quite the scene. One Sunday I was to read and the crowd was particularly boisterous. So I took my clothes off and sat down on a stool. Not only did everyone listen to every word, they listened deeply. Women cried. I was given authority where there had been none. Respect. The &lt;i&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;LA&lt;/span&gt; Times&lt;/i&gt; was there and wrote about me after as &amp;#8220;the Naked Poet&amp;#8221;. It stuck. After that it seemed I had no choice but to read in the buff wherever I read. People expected it; but more, I expected it. And besides, it&amp;nbsp;worked!&lt;/p&gt;
  639. &lt;p&gt;Nakedness is a metaphor for openness. It is what poets must be if they are to guide and lead. We are the feelings for those who have lost theirs; the inspiration for the uninspired. I suppose there are distinctions between nakedness and nudity, but who cares. The words take on different meanings according to context. It is indeed clothinglessness; openness, exposure … and at its heart honesty. Truth. Which is the soul of poetry. The words of poetry are merely the artifice; the&amp;nbsp;clothes.&lt;/p&gt;
  641. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What is your writing and revision process like? Do you have a regular writing routine? Do you write every day? At a particular time? In a particular&amp;nbsp;place?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  643. &lt;p&gt;I revise anytime I like. Every time I republish a poem it is apt to be different. I don&amp;#8217;t see anything sacred about the original—Why stifle the creative process of editing? I am not sentimental about my work. On the other hand some poems never change. They are timeless and remain&amp;nbsp;untouchable.&lt;/p&gt;
  645. &lt;p&gt;I have no disciplines. And here on the farm one is a slave to the needs of the cats and chickens and bears, the winds and the weather. One sneaks in poetry where one can; as often as not a poem thwacks me in the chest and I have to run for a paper and pen to give it&amp;nbsp;birth.&lt;/p&gt;
  647. &lt;p&gt;But honestly, when I read good poetry fractals of inspiration spin out unchecked. At those times I write voluminously and often never get back to edit or even reread—I have boxes and boxes of unmanaged words. Often I avoid reading just to quell the flow. And this is also why I don&amp;#8217;t read crappy poetry, for fear of crappy inspiration (yes, there is such a&amp;nbsp;thing).&lt;/p&gt;
  649. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Artistic collaboration&amp;#8212;one of the hardest things to undertake successfully. Yet you have done it several times. You have collaborated on books, musicals, songs. What are your current projects and do you have any advice on what makes a successful partnership in the&amp;nbsp;arts?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  651. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Nocturnal Omissions&lt;/i&gt; (Sibling Rivalry Press) is the only collaborative poetry collection, and it happened without chore. It was simply a correspondence, and as natural as such things are. We barely edited the&amp;nbsp;book.&lt;/p&gt;
  653. &lt;p&gt;Songs and musicals are another story altogether and can be infinitely trying and painful. I have often hated my collaborators and wished them death. Then again, when it goes well it is like a proper dance or blessed sex: magical. Always lovely (lucky) when that&amp;nbsp;happens.
  655. &lt;/p&gt;
  657. &lt;p&gt;Writing comedy was fun. Imagine getting stoned with Lily Tomlin and sitting thru numerous shows of Dolly cracking jokes and writing them&amp;nbsp;down—bliss.
  659. &lt;/p&gt;
  661. &lt;p&gt;The new opera has been amazing. I have had very little to do. John de los Santos created the entire libretto from my extant canon—a conversation between the older me (the Poet) and the younger me (the Muse). Loosely inspired by the concept of &lt;i&gt;Nocturnal Omissions&lt;/i&gt;. Of course I got final edit—we thrashed out a few minor points—I did a modicum of rewrite, and voila, instant opera. Well, not quite instant, but I lucked out. Clint Borzoni has just finished the score, and workshops should happen soon in New&amp;nbsp;York.&lt;/p&gt;
  663. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Mentors?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  665. &lt;p&gt;Of course. Initially it was my teacher, Busbee. Then Ian Young, who has never ceased to be a support. Isherwood became a mentor as well, tho rarely with the poetry—he didn&amp;#8217;t feel it his jurisdiction—altho he continually attested one of my poems to be his favorite (thank Goddess Auden was already dead or there may have been blood&amp;nbsp;spilt).&lt;/p&gt;
  667. &lt;p&gt;My professor at Cal Arts was Deena Metzger. Wonderful poet, wonderful teacher, wonderful lady; many points she bequeathed to me have remained decade after&amp;nbsp;decade.&lt;/p&gt;
  669. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Speaking of partnerships, besides your bevy of furry familiars (I am talking about the four-legged variety here) can you tell us a bit about your other poetic inspirations? Cats? Orchids? Extra-Terrestrials? Landscapes?&amp;nbsp;Minerals?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  671. &lt;p&gt;All of these, I suppose—especially the felines. Tho romance was infinitely my forte. Until I became bored with romance and moved into the spiritual realms. Four years of &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;LSD&lt;/span&gt; psychotherapy had much to do with that. As did the &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AIDS&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;onslaught.&lt;/p&gt;
  673. &lt;p&gt;As I said, I explode when reading brilliant work. While I have always enjoyed the modern classics—Dickinson, Millay, Whitman … stars fall down and kiss me when I read the great masters: Sankara, Li Po, Basho, Izumi Shikibu, Lao Tzu, Rumi, Hafiz, Francis … this is always where my heart&amp;nbsp;is.&lt;/p&gt;
  675. &lt;p&gt;Putting the romantic with the spiritual has been my recent passion and completion. A homecoming,&amp;nbsp;artistically.&lt;/p&gt;
  677. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Anything else you would like to add before I snap my fingers and take you out of this trance? Perhaps a word of wizardly advice to those aspiring enchanters still a bit nervous about following their&amp;nbsp;dreams?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  679. &lt;p&gt;Poetry can be great therapy—or not. But a poet is born such and writes because s/he has to. Nothing else makes sense. Some say what they have to say and move on. Others, like myself, just keep on babbling. I mean, really, what else is&amp;nbsp;there?&lt;/p&gt;
  681. &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  682.            <summary type="html">
  683.                &lt;p&gt;Nakedness is a metaphor for openness. It is what poets must be if they are to guide and lead. We are the feelings for those who have lost theirs; the inspiration for the uninspired. I suppose there are distinctions between nakedness and nudity, but who cares. The words take on different meanings according to context. It is indeed clothinglessness; openness, exposure … and at its heart honesty. Truth. Which is the soul of poetry. The words of poetry are merely the artifice; the&amp;nbsp;clothes.
  684. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  685.        </entry>
  686.            <entry>
  687.                                    <title type="html">The Bones of us (video)</title>
  688.            <author><name>Jesse Bradley
  689. </name></author>
  690.            <link href="/author/jbradley/bones_of_us_video"/>
  691.            <updated>2014-07-19T04:10:59Z</updated>
  692.            <published>2014-07-19T04:10:59Z</published>
  693.            <id></id>
  694.                                    <category   scheme=""
  695.                        term="freeverse"
  696.                        label="Freeverse" />
  698.                        <content type="html">
  699.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  701. &lt;h3&gt;The Bones of us&amp;nbsp;(video)&lt;/h3&gt;
  703. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Jesse&amp;nbsp;Bradley
  704. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  706. &lt;iframe src=&#34;; width=&#34;620&#34; height=&#34;385&#34;&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
  708. &lt;!----&gt;
  710. &lt;p&gt;Jesse Bradley&amp;#8217;s slideshow for his poem &amp;#8220;The Bones of&amp;nbsp;us&amp;#8221;.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  711.            <summary type="html">
  712.                &lt;p&gt;Jesse Bradley&amp;#8217;s slideshow for his poem &amp;#8220;The Bones of&amp;nbsp;us&amp;#8221;.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  713.        </entry>
  714.            <entry>
  715.                                    <title type="html">Whistle like a bird</title>
  716.            <author><name>Esther Greenleaf Murer
  717. </name></author>
  718.            <link href="/author/egmurer/whistle_like_a_bird"/>
  719.            <updated>2014-07-15T16:46:20Z</updated>
  720.            <published>2014-07-15T16:46:20Z</published>
  721.            <id></id>
  722.                                    <category   scheme=""
  723.                        term="meter"
  724.                        label="Meter" />
  725.                        <category   scheme=""
  726.                        term="rhyme"
  727.                        label="Rhyme" />
  729.                        <content type="html">
  730.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  732. &lt;h3&gt;Whistle like a&amp;nbsp;bird&lt;/h3&gt;
  734. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Esther Greenleaf&amp;nbsp;Murer
  735. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  737. &lt;p&gt;Whistle like a bird, with your syrinx.&lt;br&gt;
  738. Your larynx is mammalian, fit for jazz&lt;br&gt;
  739. and yodeling and tissue-paper-and-comb&lt;br&gt;
  740. concertos, doo-wop, vocals with a big band,&lt;br&gt;
  741. ensemble singing, carmina by Carl Orff,&lt;br&gt;
  742. Ganasangeet (an Indian style which&lt;br&gt;
  743. includes songs protesting the British Raj),&lt;br&gt;
  744. karaoke, field hollers, scat, soul,&lt;br&gt;
  745. madrigals, organum, Gilbert and Sullivan&lt;br&gt;
  746. operettas, sea chanteys, barbershop&lt;br&gt;
  747. quartets, lullabies, and various other&lt;br&gt;
  748. song styles.  Larynx birdcalls are most&lt;br&gt;
  749. unlikely to get you a spot on&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;TV&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  750.            <summary type="html">
  751.                &lt;p&gt;Whistle like a bird, with your syrinx.&lt;br&gt;
  752. Your larynx is mammalian, fit for jazz&lt;br&gt;
  753. and yodeling and tissue-paper-and-comb&lt;br&gt;
  754. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  755.        </entry>
  756.            <entry>
  757.                                    <title type="html">Weirdness Observed (Audio)</title>
  758.            <author><name>Ann Drysdale
  759. </name></author>
  760.            <link href="/author/adrysdale/weirdness_observed_audio"/>
  761.            <updated>2014-07-14T03:21:48Z</updated>
  762.            <published>2014-07-14T03:21:48Z</published>
  763.            <id></id>
  764.                                    <category   scheme=""
  765.                        term="meter"
  766.                        label="Meter" />
  767.                        <category   scheme=""
  768.                        term="rhyme"
  769.                        label="Rhyme" />
  770.                        <category   scheme=""
  771.                        term="audio"
  772.                        label="Audio" />
  774.                        <content type="html">
  775.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  777. &lt;h3&gt;Weirdness Observed&amp;nbsp;(Audio)&lt;/h3&gt;
  779. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Ann&amp;nbsp;Drysdale
  780. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  782. &lt;p&gt;
  783. &lt;iframe width=&#34;100%&#34; src=&#34;; scrolling=&#34;no&#34; frameborder=&#34;no&#34; height=&#34;166&#34;/&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
  785. &lt;p&gt;Ann Drysdale reads her poem &amp;#8220;Weirdness Observed.&amp;#8221;
  786. &lt;!--
  787. Ann Drysdale reads her poem &lt;a href=&#34;/author/adrysdale&#34;&gt;&#34;Weirdness Observed.&#34;&lt;/a&gt;
  788. --&gt;
  789. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  790.            <summary type="html">
  791.                &lt;p&gt;Ann Drysdale reads her poem &amp;#8220;Weirdness&amp;nbsp;Observed.&amp;#8221;&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  792.        </entry>
  793.            <entry>
  794.                                    <title type="html">Take Care</title>
  795.            <author><name>Nancy White
  796. </name></author>
  797.            <link href="/author/nwhite/take_care"/>
  798.            <updated>2014-07-10T03:31:06Z</updated>
  799.            <published>2014-07-10T03:31:06Z</published>
  800.            <id></id>
  801.                                    <category   scheme=""
  802.                        term="meter"
  803.                        label="Meter" />
  804.                        <category   scheme=""
  805.                        term="rhyme"
  806.                        label="Rhyme" />
  808.                        <content type="html">
  809.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  811. &lt;h3&gt;Take&amp;nbsp;Care&lt;/h3&gt;
  813. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Nancy&amp;nbsp;White
  814. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  816. &lt;p&gt;
  817. Don&amp;#8217;t die crossing. Not seeing you,&lt;br&gt;
  818. No longer threaded on the same string,&lt;br&gt;
  819. I can&amp;#8217;t tell the story but I somehow know&lt;br&gt;
  820. there was a sign (&amp;#8220;No U-turns&amp;#8221;) and&lt;br&gt;
  821. a sound of the air like bees, like&lt;br&gt;
  822. weaving. My hand still warm where&lt;br&gt;
  823. yours had been. Then cool. To forage&lt;br&gt;
  824. back the years undesirable, they were&lt;br&gt;
  825. not beautiful. bullying always unoriginal.&lt;br&gt;
  826. But they were kind and we were generous.&lt;br&gt;
  827. I&amp;#8217;ll gather up what you left: a few unpleasant&lt;br&gt;
  828. recollections, image of the long scar,&lt;br&gt;
  829. the way you loved to pound pegs&lt;br&gt;
  830. into the wall so we could hang things,&lt;br&gt;
  831. how you became the artist on the nail and&lt;br&gt;
  832. the only time I met divinity in a single&lt;br&gt;
  833. threadbare limitless human&amp;nbsp;eye.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  834.            <summary type="html">
  835.                &lt;p&gt;
  836. &lt;/p&gt;
  838. &lt;p&gt;I can&amp;#8217;t tell the story but I somehow know&lt;br&gt;
  839. there was a sign (&amp;#8220;No U-turns&amp;#8221;) and&lt;br&gt;
  840. a sound of the air like bees, like&lt;br&gt;&amp;nbsp;weaving.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  841.        </entry>
  842.            <entry>
  843.                                    <title type="html">Once in a fit of abstraction</title>
  844.            <author><name>Esther Greenleaf Murer
  845. </name></author>
  846.            <link href="/author/egmurer/once_in_a_fit_of_abstraction"/>
  847.            <updated>2014-07-07T02:46:15Z</updated>
  848.            <published>2014-07-07T02:46:15Z</published>
  849.            <id></id>
  850.                                    <category   scheme=""
  851.                        term="meter"
  852.                        label="Meter" />
  853.                        <category   scheme=""
  854.                        term="rhyme"
  855.                        label="Rhyme" />
  857.                        <content type="html">
  858.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  860. &lt;h3&gt;Once in a fit of&amp;nbsp;abstraction&lt;/h3&gt;
  862. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Esther Greenleaf&amp;nbsp;Murer
  863. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  865. &lt;p&gt;I circumambulated the colatitude&lt;br&gt;
  866. of &lt;i&gt;Dichtungswissenschaftlichkeit,&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  867. its lambent pneumocentrism&lt;br&gt;
  868. redounding with squamous coruscations&lt;br&gt;
  869. upon a gallimaufry of &lt;i&gt;arrière-pensées&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  870. whose allochthonous quartessentialities&lt;br&gt;
  871. were eisegetically descried to be &lt;br&gt;
  872. neither wieldy nor kempt nor&amp;nbsp;scathed.&lt;/p&gt;
  874. &lt;p&gt;Abstraction works better as seasoning&lt;br&gt;
  875. than to melt the ice on the&amp;nbsp;sidewalk.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  876.            <summary type="html">
  877.                &lt;p&gt;I circumambulated the colatitude&lt;br&gt;
  878. of &lt;i&gt;Dichtungswissenschaftlichkeit,&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  879. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  880.        </entry>
  881.            <entry>
  882.                                    <title type="html">Taking the Fall</title>
  883.            <author><name>Terese Coe
  884. </name></author>
  885.            <link href="/author/tcoe/taking_the_fall"/>
  886.            <updated>2014-07-02T15:48:40Z</updated>
  887.            <published>2014-07-02T15:48:40Z</published>
  888.            <id></id>
  889.                                    <category   scheme=""
  890.                        term="meter"
  891.                        label="Meter" />
  892.                        <category   scheme=""
  893.                        term="rhyme"
  894.                        label="Rhyme" />
  896.                        <content type="html">
  897.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  899. &lt;h3&gt;Taking the&amp;nbsp;Fall&lt;/h3&gt;
  901. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Terese&amp;nbsp;Coe
  902. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  904. &lt;p&gt;
  905. It would be difficult now to recall&lt;br&gt;
  906. what you didn&amp;#8217;t say if you said it.&lt;br&gt;
  907. Don’t fret about taking the&amp;nbsp;fall— &lt;/p&gt;
  909. &lt;p&gt;
  910. there’s gold in that parasol&lt;br&gt;
  911. if you can remember where credit&lt;br&gt;
  912. is due. Just try to&amp;nbsp;recall&lt;/p&gt;
  914. &lt;p&gt;
  915. the point of this Grand Guignol—&lt;br&gt;
  916. the lobbyist said you should shred it!&lt;br&gt;
  917. I know you’re not taking the&amp;nbsp;fall,&lt;/p&gt;
  919. &lt;p&gt;
  920. but a plaque at the Washington Mall&lt;br&gt;
  921. is the final and permanent edit,&lt;br&gt;
  922. in bronze. I’m sure you&amp;nbsp;recall&lt;/p&gt;
  924. &lt;p&gt;
  925. there’ll be no other record at all;&lt;br&gt;
  926. prominent sources unsaid it.&lt;br&gt;
  927. Don’t fret about taking the&amp;nbsp;fall,&lt;/p&gt;
  929. &lt;p&gt;
  930. the truth is a free-for-all.&lt;br&gt;
  931. No reason whatever to dread it.&lt;br&gt;
  932. Play deaf and dumb. We’ll call&lt;br&gt;
  933. you after you’ve taken the&amp;nbsp;fall.
  934. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  935.            <summary type="html">
  936.                &lt;p&gt;there’ll be no other record at all;&lt;br&gt;
  937. prominent sources unsaid&amp;nbsp;it.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  938.        </entry>
  939.            <entry>
  940.                                    <title type="html">To Catch a Thief</title>
  941.            <author><name>Peter Swanson
  942. </name></author>
  943.            <link href="/author/pswanson/to_catch_a_thief"/>
  944.            <updated>2014-06-26T15:27:38Z</updated>
  945.            <published>2014-06-26T15:27:38Z</published>
  946.            <id></id>
  947.                                    <category   scheme=""
  948.                        term="meter"
  949.                        label="Meter" />
  950.                        <category   scheme=""
  951.                        term="rhyme"
  952.                        label="Rhyme" />
  954.                        <content type="html">
  955.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  957. &lt;h3&gt;To Catch a&amp;nbsp;Thief&lt;/h3&gt;
  959. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Peter&amp;nbsp;Swanson
  960. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  962. &lt;p&gt;I like to think the burglars of the past&lt;br&gt;
  963. All felt like me: That after the cutlery&lt;br&gt;
  964. Was stored away, the candles doused,&lt;br&gt;
  965. The band sent home, the maitre&amp;nbsp;d’&lt;/p&gt;
  967. &lt;p&gt;Alone and with a water glass&lt;br&gt;
  968. Of Armagnac, the boulevards&lt;br&gt;
  969. All empty save the yowling cats,&lt;br&gt;
  970. Fat men asleep and dreaming of good&amp;nbsp;cards,&lt;/p&gt;
  972. &lt;p&gt;Young women cleansed of painted selves,&lt;br&gt;
  973. And one, that maybe even thieves could love,&lt;br&gt;
  974. Asleep in tangled sheets, they calmly&amp;nbsp;steal&lt;/p&gt;
  976. &lt;p&gt;Past balconies and take to tiled roofs&lt;br&gt;
  977. On crepe-soled shoes, the night above&lt;br&gt;
  978. Almost too lustrous to be&amp;nbsp;real.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  979.            <summary type="html">
  980.                &lt;p&gt;I like to think the burglars of the past&lt;br&gt;
  981. All felt like me: That after the cutlery&lt;br&gt;
  982. Was stored away, the candles doused,&lt;br&gt;
  983. The band sent home, the maitre&amp;nbsp;d’&lt;/p&gt;
  985. &lt;p&gt;Alone and with a water&amp;nbsp;glass
  986. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  987.        </entry>
  988.            <entry>
  989.                                    <title type="html">A day in the life of…</title>
  990.            <author><name>Esther Greenleaf Murer
  991. </name></author>
  992.            <link href="/author/egmurer/a_day_in_the_life_of"/>
  993.            <updated>2014-06-23T21:31:27Z</updated>
  994.            <published>2014-06-23T21:31:27Z</published>
  995.            <id></id>
  996.                                    <category   scheme=""
  997.                        term="meter"
  998.                        label="Meter" />
  999.                        <category   scheme=""
  1000.                        term="rhyme"
  1001.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1003.                        <content type="html">
  1004.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1006. &lt;h3&gt;A day in the life&amp;nbsp;of…&lt;/h3&gt;
  1008. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Esther Greenleaf&amp;nbsp;Murer
  1009. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1011. &lt;p&gt;Dawn descends like a dominant seventh,&lt;br&gt;
  1012. muzzy and mean as a muskmelon&amp;#8217;s mother.&lt;br&gt;
  1013. The light lours with a lecherous leer,&lt;br&gt;
  1014. groping and&amp;nbsp;glaring.&lt;/p&gt;
  1016. &lt;p&gt;Noon nags and nervously gnaws&lt;br&gt;
  1017. its mittened minutes, mindlessly musty.&lt;br&gt;
  1018. Sunshine saws the simpering sky,&lt;br&gt;
  1019. trudging toward&amp;nbsp;teatime.&lt;/p&gt;
  1021. &lt;p&gt;Evening opens its esculent ears — &lt;br&gt;
  1022. plaintive, pallid crepuscular prisms.&lt;br&gt;
  1023. The gloaming glowers, glum as gravy&lt;br&gt;
  1024. slopped in a&amp;nbsp;saucer.&lt;/p&gt;
  1026. &lt;p&gt;The morrow mutters militant marches&lt;br&gt;
  1027. with partisan pencils, proud as a pigeon.&lt;br&gt;
  1028. Totalitarian time is tolling&lt;br&gt;
  1029. sinister&amp;nbsp;sonnets. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1030.            <summary type="html">
  1031.                &lt;p&gt;Dawn descends like a dominant seventh,&lt;br&gt;
  1032. muzzy and mean as a muskmelon&amp;#8217;s mother.&lt;br&gt;
  1033. The light lours with a lecherous leer,&lt;br&gt;
  1034. groping and&amp;nbsp;glaring.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1035.        </entry>
  1036.            <entry>
  1037.                                    <title type="html">Falling Through the Cracks</title>
  1038.            <author><name>Kim Bridgford
  1039. </name></author>
  1040.            <link href="/author/kbridgford/falling_through_the_cracks"/>
  1041.            <updated>2014-06-20T04:06:37Z</updated>
  1042.            <published>2014-06-20T04:06:37Z</published>
  1043.            <id></id>
  1044.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1045.                        term="meter"
  1046.                        label="Meter" />
  1047.                        <category   scheme=""
  1048.                        term="rhyme"
  1049.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1051.                        <content type="html">
  1052.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1054. &lt;h3&gt;Falling Through the&amp;nbsp;Cracks&lt;/h3&gt;
  1056. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Kim&amp;nbsp;Bridgford
  1057. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1059. &lt;p&gt;Think cockroach, think the serendipitous&lt;br&gt;
  1060. Slither of the things that you don’t see&lt;br&gt;
  1061. Or want to see.  There’s an apocalypse&lt;br&gt;
  1062. Happening at night.  You get up and make your&amp;nbsp;coffee.&lt;/p&gt;
  1064. &lt;p&gt;Later, when your car stumbles—pothole?&lt;br&gt;
  1065. Earthquake?—you think you could fall through.&lt;br&gt;
  1066. What lives down there, waiting in the sinkhole?&lt;br&gt;
  1067. Breathless, you pause:  and then you follow&amp;nbsp;through,&lt;/p&gt;
  1069. &lt;p&gt;But underneath you feel the rancid movement&lt;br&gt;
  1070. Of all decay.  Bananas gain their spots.&lt;br&gt;
  1071. Relationships have reached the turning moment,&lt;br&gt;
  1072. Unburied hatchets ready.  The dry earth begets&lt;br&gt;
  1073. Emptiness—flexing one muscle, then another,&lt;br&gt;
  1074. The zigzags breaking the back of your&amp;nbsp;mother.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1075.            <summary type="html">
  1076.                &lt;p&gt;But underneath you feel the rancid movement&lt;br&gt;
  1077. Of all decay.  Bananas gain their&amp;nbsp;spots.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1078.        </entry>
  1079.            <entry>
  1080.                                    <title type="html">Interview with Walter Ancarrow</title>
  1081.            <author><name>Esther Greenleaf Murer
  1082. </name></author>
  1083.            <link href="/author/egmurer/interview_with_walter_ancarrow"/>
  1084.            <updated>2014-06-16T03:02:50Z</updated>
  1085.            <published>2014-06-16T03:02:50Z</published>
  1086.            <id></id>
  1087.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1088.                        term="namerica"
  1089.                        label="Namerica" />
  1091.                        <content type="html">
  1092.                &lt;p&gt;—
  1093. &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1094. &lt;h3&gt;Interview with Walter&amp;nbsp;Ancarrow&lt;/h3&gt;
  1095. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Esther Greenleaf&amp;nbsp;Murer
  1096. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  1097. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Walter Ancarrow:&lt;/b&gt; There is much ado about young writers, like &lt;i&gt;The New Yorker&lt;/i&gt;&amp;#8216;s &amp;#8220;30 Under 30&amp;#8221; list or the &lt;i&gt;Best New Poets Anthology&lt;/i&gt; (which defines &amp;#8220;best&amp;#8221; and &amp;#8220;poet&amp;#8221; whimsically). More interesting, because more rare and surprising perhaps, are the late-bloomers, the writers who find success later in life. You began writing poetry seriously at 70 and published your first collection, &lt;i&gt;Unglobed Fruit&lt;/i&gt;, at 75. Why, as a septuagenarian, did you finally hear the muses&amp;nbsp;singing?&lt;/p&gt;
  1099. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Esther Greenleaf Murer:&lt;/b&gt; I&amp;#8217;d been sneaking up on it for awhile.  I guess around 2000 I started working with Steve Kowit&amp;#8217;s &lt;i&gt;In the Palm of your Hand&lt;/i&gt;.  I think that was my first venture into trying to learn more about craft by doing exercises. In 2001, I signed up for the forum on, but it wasn&amp;#8217;t functioning, so I forgot all about it until suddenly, a few days before my 70th birthday in 2005, it was there.  A lot of stimulation, experimentation and encouragement followed. It was a wonderful community while it&amp;nbsp;lasted.&lt;/p&gt;
  1101. &lt;p&gt;Having been completely turned off poetry by negative experiences in the &amp;#8216;50s, I found it a liberating revelation to realize that &amp;#8220;there are a thousand different ways of constructing tribal lays, and every single one of them is right.&amp;#8221;  There&amp;#8217;s a kind of &amp;#8220;first fine careless rapture&amp;#8221; about self-education when you really get into&amp;nbsp;it.&lt;/p&gt;
  1103. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; What happened in the &amp;#8216;50s that you found more crippling than Kipling, as it&amp;nbsp;were?&lt;/p&gt;
  1105. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;EGM&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; I found the literary fashions of the &amp;#8216;50s totally off-putting. I was around some snobbish English majors and was made to feel that the kind of poetry I felt drawn to was inherently second-class stuff. I reckon there was a sexist subtext too—women only write light verse (or compose light music). It was a liberation and delight, considerably later, to delve into Cummings, who wrote poetry of depth and power with tongue firmly planted in cheek. He was the first twentieth-century poet I really studied in depth, memorized, etc. He showed what a comic muse could do, though I didn&amp;#8217;t realize that until quite&amp;nbsp;recently.&lt;/p&gt;
  1107. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Well, what can the comic muse do besides be&amp;nbsp;comical?&lt;/p&gt;
  1109. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;EGM&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; For me it functions as a leaven. If my tongue doesn&amp;#8217;t stray into my cheek at some point, the result is bound to be flat, leaden. It&amp;#8217;s the comic muse that enables me to let go, take risks. Yes, there are other kinds of leaven—anger, for one—but even so I need an element of play, a touch of the absurd, to lift it off the prosaic&amp;nbsp;plane.&lt;/p&gt;
  1111. &lt;p&gt;Cummings&amp;#8217; poetry is full of affirmation-in-spite-of, a stance I wish I could take more often (though in recent years it&amp;#8217;s been hard, which may be why I write so much nonsense these days). Cummings is mystical and political and disgusted with American spiritual vacuity and always funny even when he rages. (His syntactical/typographical experiments are one of a kind, no use trying to emulate them. And it took me decades to realize that some of my favorites are sonnets—such as &amp;#8220;pity this busy monster, manunkind&amp;#8221;:&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;ABABCADCDDEFEF&lt;/span&gt;.)&lt;/p&gt;
  1113. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; You were once a composer. Does the act of musical composition influence your writing&amp;nbsp;process?&lt;/p&gt;
  1115. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;EGM&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; John Ashbery wrote &amp;#8220;I feel I could express myself best in music. What I like about music is its ability of being convincing, of carrying an argument through successfully to the finish, though the terms of this argument remain unknown quantities. What remains is this structure, the architecture of the argument, scene or story. I would like to do this in poetry.&amp;#8221; [In Michelle Boisseau&amp;#8217;s &lt;i&gt;Writing Poems&lt;/i&gt;:&amp;nbsp;190.]
  1117. &lt;/p&gt;
  1119. &lt;p&gt;In composing too I liked to play with forms or musical ideas; attempting modern versions of medieval forms such as a motet or thirteenth-century Conductus, or figuring out how to use a dominant seventh configuration in a context outside the major/minor system. In a nineteenth-century Unitarian hymnal I found a translation of a medieval Latin hymn by Samuel Longfellow (brother of Henry), who had cast it in the mold of &amp;#8220;Come, thou Almighty King.&amp;#8221;  It began &amp;#8220;Come, thou almighty Will; Our fainting bosoms fill / with thy great power&amp;#8230;.&amp;#8221; I laughed out loud, it sounded like such a typical Unitarian bowdlerization. But later I realized that it was a very strong lyric, it just needed to be divorced from that tune and brought into the twentieth-century. So I wrote a setting for soprano, alto, and continuo in Locrian mode—one of my few compositions that ever got&amp;nbsp;performed.&lt;/p&gt;
  1121. &lt;p&gt;About &amp;#8220;A day in the life of&amp;#8230;&amp;#8221; [to be published at &lt;i&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KIN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt; this issue]: when it occurred to me to try to combine accentual-alliterative with Sapphics, I just sort of filled in the blanks with sonorous nonsense, loosely structured around times of day. I often do that sort of thing when trying out a new form. Sound is more important than sense.  Playing with possibilities, I guess one could&amp;nbsp;say.&lt;/p&gt;
  1123. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; It&amp;#8217;s surprising that you talk about Quaker hymns influencing your musical compositions because your poetic output doesn&amp;#8217;t seem remotely&amp;nbsp;religious.&lt;/p&gt;
  1125. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;EGM&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; I joined Friends 30 years ago. I come from a long line of Midwestern Unitarians and Universalists and grew up in the Bible belt; my own love affair with the Bible began when I was 3 or 4 (asking questions about the death of an infant cousin)—but my upbringing was anything but orthodox Christian. Transcendentalism (mystic wing of Unitarianism) plays a large role for me; the hymns I referred to were Transcendentalist, not&amp;nbsp;Quaker.&lt;/p&gt;
  1127. &lt;p&gt;Religion has been very important to me all my life.  My recent poetry isn&amp;#8217;t overtly religious, but it certainly draws on the Bible a lot. Most of the consciously religious poems have been published in print, not online—most recently a sonnet based on Numbers 9 in the Quaker poetry anthology &lt;i&gt;Gathered&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;
  1129. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Your poem &amp;#8220;Oxydoxes and Paramorons,&amp;#8221; which we are publishing at &lt;i&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KIN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;, takes lines from John Ashbery and responds to them in the style of Ogden Nash, in what you hilariously call a &amp;#8220;Nashbery.&amp;#8221; Why these two&amp;nbsp;poets?&lt;/p&gt;
  1131. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;EGM&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; I read a lot of Nash in my teens—even got his autograph when he did a reading in my home town. My first poem to be accepted by a literary magazine (&lt;i&gt;Light Quarterly&lt;/i&gt;) was a Nasher. It strikes me that he pioneered with rhymed free&amp;nbsp;verse.
  1133. &lt;/p&gt;
  1135. &lt;p&gt;Ashbery delights and excites me. I don&amp;#8217;t feel any need to &amp;#8220;understand&amp;#8221; his poetry. Charles Simic well expresses what appeals to&amp;nbsp;me:
  1137.        &lt;/p&gt;
  1139. &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;Whatever an Ashbery poem eventually turns out to be about is not an idea he started with but something he stumbled upon as he shuffled phrases and images like a pack of cards. It&amp;#8217;s precisely because he has nothing to say initially that he is able to say something new. Poets who think they have new things to say run out of ideas quickly and are condemned to say the same thing over and over again in their poems. This may not make very much sense, but that&amp;#8217;s how it works in&amp;nbsp;practice.&lt;/p&gt;
  1140.        &lt;p&gt;There&amp;#8217;s something else too. Most poets trim their experiences down to their manageable parts.  If they are writing about what happened in the woods one snowy night, they are not likely to include stray thoughts they are having at that moment about taking a pair of pants to the cleaners. Ashbery does.  He includes such extraneous material, no matter how irrelevant it seems to be. It is his refusal to make a choice between what is &amp;#8216;serious&amp;#8217; and what is &amp;#8216;trivial&amp;#8217; that drives his detractors batty. They want poems to tidy up experience, while he keeps insisting that messiness is part of the picture. What it comes down to is a quarrel about truth and beauty. Can a poem bear the mention of barbecued pork ribs dripping with grease and still be a lyric poem? If one believes that randomness and nonsense are an integral part of the human experience, as all comic writers always have, then those for whom poetry is synonymous with delicacy of feeling and verbal decorum will go away unhappy and even angry. (Charles Simic, &amp;#8220;Tragi-comic soup: On John Ashbery&amp;#8221; in &lt;i&gt;The Metaphysician in the Dark&lt;/i&gt;:&amp;nbsp;95.)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p/&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
  1142. &lt;p&gt;Reading Simic on Ashbery made me realize that my muse is comic, but that that does not mean that I have to restrict myself to writing light&amp;nbsp;verse.&lt;/p&gt;
  1144. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; One thing that strikes me about your work is its adventurous spirit. You often use forms to surprising effect: the sestina &amp;#8220;&lt;a href=&#34;;&gt;Les Six: Concert Program Notes&lt;/a&gt;,&amp;#8221; published at &lt;i&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KIN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;, hides its repetends in homophones; and your &amp;#8220;&lt;a href=&#34;;&gt;Chain Ghazal: Chickens&lt;/a&gt;,&amp;#8221; published in &lt;i&gt;The Guardian&lt;/i&gt;, combines ghazals with blues poetry. These are just two examples of your many experiments and unlikely pairings. What is your relation to&amp;nbsp;form?&lt;/p&gt;
  1146. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;EGM&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Play, predominantly. I like to try new ones. Mastering them is not a goal—I&amp;#8217;m too old for that. But some forms, such as ghazals and rondels, I return to again and&amp;nbsp;again.&lt;/p&gt;
  1148. &lt;p&gt;I need some sort of formal element to hang a poem on, or else it comes out as prose with line breaks. It was a great revelation to me in my late self-education that there were so many different kinds of handles, not just received forms. I suppose about half my poems are &amp;#8220;formal&amp;#8221; in the narrow&amp;nbsp;sense.&lt;/p&gt;
  1150. &lt;p&gt;The idea of hybrids intrigues me. Gene Doty&amp;#8217;s &lt;i&gt;The Ghazal Page&lt;/i&gt; has encouraged me to experiment with other ways of hybridizing the ghazal&amp;nbsp;form.&lt;/p&gt;
  1152. &lt;p&gt;Form tends to lead. Most of the time, not always. As when I decide I&amp;#8217;m going to experiment with, say, a given type of slant rhyme, and so what comes out is a nonsensical sonnet. I often start with phrases from&amp;nbsp;dreams.&lt;/p&gt;
  1154. &lt;p&gt;Lately I&amp;#8217;ve been reading more about Oulipo, which I&amp;#8217;ve worked with before, and that has opened up a lot. I don&amp;#8217;t see any hard and fast line between formal poetry in the classic sense and the oulipian idea of constraints; but then, I tend to use any kind of formal idea as a springboard, a starting point to develop from, not something to be followed&amp;nbsp;slavishly.&lt;/p&gt;
  1156. &lt;p&gt;I also try to improve my grasp of structure: scattering variations on a motif through a poem, for instance. Ashbery does a lot of that. Stephen Dunn&amp;#8217;s essay on the necessity of a poet to be a fictionalist has been helpful to me; narrative is not my strong point, I have never in my life been able to write&amp;nbsp;fiction.&lt;/p&gt;
  1158. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; I&amp;#8217;d like to go back to your comments about self-education. We share an adversity to writing groups and &amp;#8220;schools&amp;#8221; of&amp;nbsp;poetry.&lt;/p&gt;
  1160. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;EGM&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; For as long as I can remember, faddism has been my bête noire. The story is that when my elders would ask me what I&amp;#8217;d done in nursery school, I&amp;#8217;d say &amp;#8220;The other children strung beads and I cut paper,&amp;#8221; or &amp;#8220;The other children sang &amp;#8216;Silent night&amp;#8217; and I sang &amp;#8216;O little town of Bethlehem.&amp;#8217;&amp;#8221;  (It runs in the family: Every time I went to observe my newborn son in the hospital nursery, either he was sleeping and all the other babies were crying, or vice versa. As for my&amp;nbsp;daughter…).&lt;/p&gt;
  1162. &lt;p&gt;Certainly I learn from other poets, but what (and how) I learn is very idiosyncratic—and gets more so with age.  When we lived in Norway I couldn&amp;#8217;t bear the thought of taking Norwegian-for-foreigners classes. I had pretty traumatic memories of language conversation courses. (&amp;#8220;What time did you get up this morning?&amp;#8221; &amp;#8220;None of your damn business.&amp;#8221;) Having to talk about stuff I didn&amp;#8217;t want to talk about, not being allowed to talk about what engaged me. So instead (once I&amp;#8217;d gotten some kind of handle on the language) I took elementary courses in subjects that interested me at the community night&amp;nbsp;school.&lt;/p&gt;
  1164. &lt;p&gt;Workshops and writing groups present the same problem. As I maybe said already, I&amp;#8217;m a glutton for prompts and exercises, but rarely do anything with them these days. If I had to do an assigned one, I&amp;#8217;d probably be unhappy. A Quaker quote (on speaking in Meeting): &amp;#8220;If nothing flames, silence is my portion.&amp;#8221; I guess that&amp;#8217;s very close to sounding like I insist on waiting for inspiration—sometimes one must just dig in and write something. Still. Quaker silence is a wonderful thing—waiting to see what, if anything, wants to be&amp;nbsp;said.&lt;/p&gt;
  1166. &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1167.            <summary type="html">
  1168.                &lt;p&gt;Workshops and writing groups present the same problem. [I&amp;#8217;m] a glutton for prompts and exercises, but rarely do anything with them these days. If I had to do an assigned one, I&amp;#8217;d probably be unhappy. A Quaker quote (on speaking in Meeting): &amp;#8220;If nothing flames, silence is my portion.&amp;#8221; I guess that&amp;#8217;s very close to sounding like I insist on waiting for inspiration—sometimes one must just dig in and write something. Still. Quaker silence is a wonderful thing—waiting to see what, if anything, wants to be&amp;nbsp;said.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1169.        </entry>
  1170.            <entry>
  1171.                                    <title type="html">Oxydoxes and Paramorons</title>
  1172.            <author><name>Esther Greenleaf Murer
  1173. </name></author>
  1174.            <link href="/author/egmurer/oxydoxes_and_paramorons"/>
  1175.            <updated>2014-06-16T02:40:22Z</updated>
  1176.            <published>2014-06-16T02:40:22Z</published>
  1177.            <id></id>
  1178.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1179.                        term="meter"
  1180.                        label="Meter" />
  1181.                        <category   scheme=""
  1182.                        term="rhyme"
  1183.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1185.                        <content type="html">
  1186.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1188. &lt;h3&gt;Oxydoxes and&amp;nbsp;Paramorons&lt;/h3&gt;
  1190. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Esther Greenleaf&amp;nbsp;Murer
  1191. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1193. &lt;p class=&#34;epigraph&#34;&gt;&lt;i&gt;(From the collected poems of Ogden&amp;nbsp;Nashbery)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  1195. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;This poem is concerned with language on a very plain level——&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1196. Just straightforward words without boustrophedon, picot edging, or bevel.&lt;br&gt;
  1197. &lt;i&gt;Look at it talking to you.  You look out a window&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1198. and see yourself mirrored as a hippopotamus, a slender gazelle, or a thin doe,&lt;br&gt;
  1199. &lt;i&gt;Or pretend to fidget.  You have it but you don&amp;#8217;t have it.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1200. It&amp;#8217;s both in and out of  your reach like a lifeboat hanging from a davit.&lt;br&gt;
  1201. &lt;i&gt;You miss it, it misses you.  You miss each other.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1202. And pretty soon everybody is missing everybody else and his&amp;nbsp;great-great-grandmother.&lt;/p&gt;
  1204. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;The poem is sad because it wants to be yours, and cannot.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1205. It wishes you were its loving parent instead of the one by whom it has already been begot.&lt;br&gt;
  1206. &lt;i&gt;What&amp;#8217;s a plain level?  It is that and other things,&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1207. a bubble in the middle of a two-dimensional collection of concentric rings,&lt;br&gt;
  1208. &lt;i&gt;Bringing a system of them into play.  Play?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1209. No, I don&amp;#8217;t want to.  Go away.&lt;br&gt;
  1210. &lt;i&gt;Well, actually, yes, but I consider play to be&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1211. any activity where the person who makes the rules is&amp;nbsp;me.&lt;/p&gt;
  1213. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;A deeper outside thing, a dreamed role-pattern,&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1214. (I&amp;#8217;ve always wanted to pretend to eat my children, like Saturn)&lt;br&gt;
  1215. &lt;i&gt;As in the division of grace these long August days&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1216. when most of it goes to everybody else and leaves me with nothing but malaise,&lt;br&gt;
  1217. &lt;i&gt;Without proof.  Open ended.  And before you know&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1218. with what psychobabble to address the threatened wave of post-structuralist overflow,&lt;br&gt;
  1219. &lt;i&gt;It gets lost in the steam and chatter of typewriters,&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1220. coopted into the maundering drivel of dunderheaded&amp;nbsp;hypewriters.&lt;/p&gt;
  1222. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;It has been played once more.  I think you exist only&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1223. in hopes of getting the whole world thrashing about in the gutter, supinely or pronely;&lt;br&gt;
  1224. &lt;i&gt;To tease me into doing it, on your level, and then you aren&amp;#8217;t there&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1225. but are off mingling with the bon ton, pretending to be debonair&lt;br&gt;
  1226. &lt;i&gt;Or have adopted a different attitude.  And the poem,&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1227. which is full of lines which I don&amp;#8217;t know whether to scan ‛em, snort ‛em or toe ‛em,&lt;br&gt;
  1228. &lt;i&gt;Has set me softly down beside you.  The poem is you.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1229. See, I can pretend to be debonair&amp;nbsp;too.&lt;/p&gt;
  1231. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;[Italicized lines: &amp;#8220;Paradoxes and Oxymorons&amp;#8221; by John&amp;nbsp;Ashbery]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1232.            <summary type="html">
  1233.                &lt;p&gt;&lt;p/&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;This poem is concerned with language on a very plain level——&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1234. Just straightforward words without boustrophedon, picot edging, or bevel.&lt;br&gt;
  1235. &lt;i&gt;Look at it talking to you.  You look out a window&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1236. and see yourself mirrored as a hippopotamus, a slender gazelle, or a thin&amp;nbsp;doe,
  1237. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1238.        </entry>
  1239.            <entry>
  1240.                                    <title type="html">Coda</title>
  1241.            <author><name>Erica Dawson
  1242. </name></author>
  1243.            <link href="/author/edawson/coda"/>
  1244.            <updated>2014-05-05T06:02:25Z</updated>
  1245.            <published>2014-05-05T06:02:25Z</published>
  1246.            <id></id>
  1247.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1248.                        term="meter"
  1249.                        label="Meter" />
  1250.                        <category   scheme=""
  1251.                        term="rhyme"
  1252.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1254.                        <content type="html">
  1255.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1257. &lt;h3&gt;Coda&lt;/h3&gt;
  1259. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Erica&amp;nbsp;Dawson
  1260. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1262. &lt;p&gt;Some days, what I remember still&lt;br&gt;
  1263. Surprises me. Last year in late&lt;br&gt;
  1264. May, the cicadas showed up shrill,&lt;br&gt;
  1265. Their ceaseless organs airing &lt;i&gt;Mate&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;br&gt;
  1266. No, &lt;i&gt;mate with me&lt;/i&gt;. They titillate&lt;br&gt;
  1267. Me even now, high-pitched, in the drum-&lt;br&gt;
  1268. ming crickets’ moves to copulate&lt;br&gt;
  1269. In the meantime. What I&amp;nbsp;become&lt;/p&gt;
  1271. &lt;p&gt;Sitting next to a windowsill,&lt;br&gt;
  1272. Duvet-cocooned, isn’t innate.&lt;br&gt;
  1273. It’s born with time, baring an ill-&lt;br&gt;
  1274. Fated notion: long days will wait&lt;br&gt;
  1275. Like hyacinths, then germinate&lt;br&gt;
  1276. To more. Then I’m living the sum&lt;br&gt;
  1277. Of moments while I calculate&lt;br&gt;
  1278. In the mean. Time, what you&amp;nbsp;become&lt;/p&gt;
  1280. &lt;p&gt;Is my perpetual motion, nil&lt;br&gt;
  1281. Personified in pulses, pate,&lt;br&gt;
  1282. Undulations of fever, chill.&lt;br&gt;
  1283. The body makes me salivate.&lt;br&gt;
  1284. I wonder can they masturbate,&lt;br&gt;
  1285. The nymph cicadas, can they hum&lt;br&gt;
  1286. Interred in dirt? They hibernate.&lt;br&gt;
  1287. In the meantime what I&amp;nbsp;become&lt;/p&gt;
  1289. &lt;p&gt;Are wakeful tries to imitate&lt;br&gt;
  1290. Their sleep. Spring mimics menstruum.&lt;br&gt;
  1291. Un-endings thrive, and still I hate&lt;br&gt;
  1292. What, in the meantime, I’ve&amp;nbsp;become.
  1293. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1294.            <summary type="html">
  1295.                &lt;p&gt;Some days, what I remember still&lt;br&gt;
  1296. Surprises me. Last year in late&lt;br&gt;
  1297. May, the cicadas showed up shrill,&lt;br&gt;
  1298. Their ceaseless organs airing &lt;i&gt;Mate&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;br&gt;
  1299. No, &lt;i&gt;mate with me&lt;/i&gt;. They&amp;nbsp;titillate
  1300. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1301.        </entry>
  1302.            <entry>
  1303.                                    <title type="html">The Bone Orchard</title>
  1304.            <author><name>Nina Puro
  1305. </name></author>
  1306.            <link href="/author/npuro/the_bone_orchard"/>
  1307.            <updated>2014-05-04T04:58:04Z</updated>
  1308.            <published>2014-05-04T04:58:04Z</published>
  1309.            <id></id>
  1310.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1311.                        term="meter"
  1312.                        label="Meter" />
  1313.                        <category   scheme=""
  1314.                        term="rhyme"
  1315.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1317.                        <content type="html">
  1318.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1320. &lt;h3&gt;The Bone&amp;nbsp;Orchard&lt;/h3&gt;
  1322. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Nina&amp;nbsp;Puro
  1323. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1325. &lt;p&gt;In the orchard of lost keys, all the dead sisters speak together or not at all. Their arms impossible trees. Their arms careful rows of bruises. The dead sisters miss us, but not much. More, they miss blankets. They miss eating fallen apples still sun-warm, miss drinking away their silver. They do not miss doing paperwork, but who would? They miss signing their names: that finality. They sit in a rusted truck with roots growing through the ceiling, pass notes back and forth, notes they sign by kissing. They knit sweaters of tangled mattress springs to keep the tree-roots warm, play the gutted refrigerator like a piano with their mouths. Winters, they make necklaces from river-ice to hang from any limb lithe enough to hold them, tree or girl. Mostly, they miss the ambulance before the ambulance came for them: the sound pulling like a key stretched to music. Like the inverse of an ice cream truck. Like something not final, not just&amp;nbsp;yet.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1326.            <summary type="html">
  1327.                &lt;p&gt;In the orchard of lost keys, all the dead sisters speak&amp;nbsp;together&amp;#8230;
  1328. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1329.        </entry>
  1330.            <entry>
  1331.                                    <title type="html">The bootstrap of the genie</title>
  1332.            <author><name>Esther Greenleaf Murer
  1333. </name></author>
  1334.            <link href="/author/egmurer/the_bootstrap_of_the_genie"/>
  1335.            <updated>2014-05-02T05:22:37Z</updated>
  1336.            <published>2014-05-02T05:22:37Z</published>
  1337.            <id></id>
  1338.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1339.                        term="meter"
  1340.                        label="Meter" />
  1341.                        <category   scheme=""
  1342.                        term="rhyme"
  1343.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1345.                        <content type="html">
  1346.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1348. &lt;h3&gt;The bootstrap of the&amp;nbsp;genie&lt;/h3&gt;
  1350. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Esther Greenleaf&amp;nbsp;Murer
  1351. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1353. &lt;p&gt;1 The bootstrap of the genie of Jesus Christ, the song of David, the sop of Abraham.&lt;br&gt;
  1354. 2 Abraham begrudged Isaac; and Isaac beheld Jacob; and Jacob bejeweled Judas and his brimstone;&lt;br&gt;
  1355. 3 And Judas beleaguered Phares and Zara of Thamar; and Phares belittled Esrom; and Esrom belted Aram;&lt;br&gt;
  1356. 4 And Aram bemused Aminadab; and Aminadab benefitted Naasson; and Naasson benumbed Salmon;&lt;br&gt;
  1357. 5 And Salmon bereaved Booz of Rachab; and Booz besieged Obed of Ruth; and Obed besprinkled Jesse;&lt;br&gt;
  1358. 6 And Jesse bestrode David the kipper; and David the kitten bettered Solomon of her that had been the wigwam of Urias;&lt;br&gt;
  1359. 7 And Solomon bewitched Roboam; and Roboam bid Abia; and Abia bifurcated Asa;&lt;br&gt;
  1360. 8 And Asa bilked Josaphat; and Josaphat bound Joram; and Joram birched Ozias;&lt;br&gt;
  1361. 9 And Ozias birled Joatham; and Joatham bisected Achaz; and Achaz bivouacked Ezekias;&lt;br&gt;
  1362. 10 And Ezekias blackballed Manasses; and Manasses blamed Amon; and Amon blasphemed Josias;&lt;br&gt;
  1363. 11 And Josias bleached Jechonias and his brislings, about the time they were carven away to Babylon:&lt;br&gt;
  1364. 12 And after they were brushed to Babylon, Jechonias blended Salathiel; and Salathiel blindsided Zorobabel;&lt;br&gt;
  1365. 13 And Zorobabel blitzed Abiud; and Abiud blooded Eliakim; and Eliakim blotched Azor;&lt;br&gt;
  1366. 14 And Azor bludgeoned Sadoc; and Sadoc blue-penciled Achim; and Achim blurred Eliud;&lt;br&gt;
  1367. 15 And Eliud boffed Eleazar; and Eleazar bolstered Matthan; and Matthan bombproofed Jacob;&lt;br&gt;
  1368. 16 And Jacob bonked Joseph the hybrid of Mary, of whom was bought Jesus, who is canalized Christ.&lt;br&gt;
  1369. 17 So all the gentians from Abraham to David are fourteen geodes; and from David until the casting away into Babylon are fourteen georgettes; and from the catapulting away into Babylon unto Christ are fourteen&amp;nbsp;geraniums.
  1370. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1371.            <summary type="html">
  1372.                &lt;p&gt;1 The bootstrap of the genie of Jesus Christ, the song of David, the sop of Abraham.&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1373.        </entry>
  1374.            <entry>
  1375.                                    <title type="html">La Revue Nègre</title>
  1376.            <author><name>Erica Dawson
  1377. </name></author>
  1378.            <link href="/author/edawson/la_revue_n_gre"/>
  1379.            <updated>2014-04-30T15:55:29Z</updated>
  1380.            <published>2014-04-30T15:55:29Z</published>
  1381.            <id></id>
  1382.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1383.                        term="meter"
  1384.                        label="Meter" />
  1385.                        <category   scheme=""
  1386.                        term="rhyme"
  1387.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1389.                        <content type="html">
  1390.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1392. &lt;h3&gt;La Revue&amp;nbsp;Nègre&lt;/h3&gt;
  1394. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Erica&amp;nbsp;Dawson
  1395. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1397. &lt;p&gt;The curtain’s up? Hey now! Away I go.&lt;br&gt;
  1398. &lt;i&gt;La vie en rose&lt;/i&gt; (ah hem), &lt;i&gt;Bonjour et O&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;br&gt;
  1399. &lt;i&gt;Au Cabaret!&lt;/i&gt; (Look out!) &lt;i&gt;Puccini’s O&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  1400. &lt;i&gt;Mio bambino caro&lt;/i&gt;….I’ll know&lt;br&gt;
  1401. The other words then, too; sing Nina’s woe&lt;br&gt;
  1402. In her sultry old blue mood indigo;&lt;br&gt;
  1403. With Johnny Cash, go make an Alamo &lt;br&gt;
  1404. In Reno: we’ll up and kill a man; I’ll sow&lt;br&gt;
  1405. Jimmy’s cracked corn; and, then, Pinocchio&lt;br&gt;
  1406. It: wish upon a star; I’ll row row row&lt;br&gt;
  1407. A boat; and, fit the battle of&amp;nbsp;Jericho—&lt;/p&gt;
  1409. &lt;p&gt;But, then, (Bravo!) I’ll give it up and throw&lt;br&gt;
  1410. It to my sidekick with the fine trousseau:&lt;br&gt;
  1411. Ms. Josephine Baker—two woman show,&lt;br&gt;
  1412. Expatriates, banana dances, “whoa,”&lt;br&gt;
  1413. &lt;i&gt;Revue Negre&lt;/i&gt;, Nature’s Black Pearls, “&lt;i&gt;Moi ‘lo&lt;/i&gt;,’”&lt;br&gt;
  1414. “Don’t Touch Our Four Tomatoes.” We would tow&lt;br&gt;
  1415. The audience to our private chateau&lt;br&gt;
  1416. Brimming with leopards, liquor, curio-&lt;br&gt;
  1417. Toucans, and every latest&amp;nbsp;Romeo.&lt;/p&gt;
  1419. &lt;p&gt;I’ve got to get a dog first, though, and grow&lt;br&gt;
  1420. Pin-curled sideburns and learn to pose, tableau&lt;br&gt;
  1421. Of taut breasts and the navel apropos&lt;br&gt;
  1422. Of Paris nightlife, drop it hot, slow, low&lt;br&gt;
  1423. As bass, tell Daddy Rice to tell Jim Crow&lt;br&gt;
  1424. To take his minstrel smile and o-&lt;br&gt;
  1425. pen up real wide to suck our titties.&amp;nbsp;Lo,&lt;/p&gt;
  1427. &lt;p&gt;How a rose e’er bloomed when you sang out, Sweet Jo.&lt;br&gt;
  1428. You are our voice.  Sing louder.  Oui. Hello&lt;br&gt;
  1429. And Enchanté. The bistro’s spotlight glow&lt;br&gt;
  1430. Will turn into a dusked seraglio&lt;br&gt;
  1431. And crown us sultans.  Yes, Madame Tussaud&lt;br&gt;
  1432. Could wax us.  Yes, we’ll get some more Merlot,&lt;br&gt;
  1433. Black Gypsy Rose.  Don’t stop your do-si-do.&lt;br&gt;
  1434. Please flaunt your gold-chained hips.  Work that bon mot&lt;br&gt;
  1435. Banter.  I’ll make a keepsake video;&lt;br&gt;
  1436. And, if you stop singing, I’ll lip-synch, blow&lt;br&gt;
  1437. A kiss to our United States below&lt;br&gt;
  1438. The smoke that hovered with the&amp;nbsp;mistletoe.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1439.            <summary type="html">
  1440.                &lt;p&gt;The other words then, too; sing Nina’s woe&lt;br&gt;
  1441. In her sultry old blue mood&amp;nbsp;indigo;
  1442. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1443.        </entry>
  1444.            <entry>
  1445.                                    <title type="html">Tomales Point</title>
  1446.            <author><name>Gavin Dillard
  1447. </name></author>
  1448.            <link href="/author/gdillard/tomales_point"/>
  1449.            <updated>2014-04-25T23:47:15Z</updated>
  1450.            <published>2014-04-25T23:47:15Z</published>
  1451.            <id></id>
  1452.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1453.                        term="freeverse"
  1454.                        label="Freeverse" />
  1456.                        <content type="html">
  1457.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1459. &lt;h3&gt;Tomales&amp;nbsp;Point&lt;/h3&gt;
  1461. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Gavin&amp;nbsp;Dillard
  1462. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1464. &lt;p&gt;We sat on Tomales Point,&lt;br&gt;
  1465. his lips were dry and cracked inside my own;&lt;br&gt;
  1466. I could taste what we had had for lunch some&lt;br&gt;
  1467. three hours&amp;nbsp;before.&lt;/p&gt;
  1469. &lt;p&gt;We had hiked to this precipice,&lt;br&gt;
  1470. my body stank of tea and musk, and brine&lt;br&gt;
  1471. dripped down my arms onto his;&lt;br&gt;
  1472. he smelled of coffee and&amp;nbsp;citrus.&lt;/p&gt;
  1474. &lt;p&gt;An ex-Jesuit, he spoke of his monastic&lt;br&gt;
  1475. life and current wiccan studies while I&lt;br&gt;
  1476. strew seeds of opium poppies, datura, nicotina and&lt;br&gt;
  1477. Siberian motherwort upon the wild, mist-&lt;br&gt;
  1478. dampened&amp;nbsp;terrain.&lt;/p&gt;
  1480. &lt;p&gt;Dinner that night was casual and&lt;br&gt;
  1481. makeshift, I sucked on his tits until I could&lt;br&gt;
  1482. taste the ale he was drinking;&lt;br&gt;
  1483. we never unbuttoned our&amp;nbsp;pants.&lt;/p&gt;
  1485. &lt;p&gt;Love is tame after forty, but it is&lt;br&gt;
  1486. no less splendid;&lt;br&gt;
  1487. out on the bluffs, the herds of tule elk were&lt;br&gt;
  1488. completely hornless, that had boasted such&lt;br&gt;
  1489. awesome racks mere weeks&amp;nbsp;before.&lt;/p&gt;
  1491. &lt;p&gt;On the trail, a boy of no more than&lt;br&gt;
  1492. five gleamed and boasted of the single&lt;br&gt;
  1493. antler he had found in the&amp;nbsp;bush.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1494.            <summary type="html">
  1495.                &lt;p&gt;We sat on Tomales Point,
  1496. his lips were dry and cracked inside my own;
  1497. I could taste what we had had for lunch some
  1498. three hours&amp;nbsp;before.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1499.        </entry>
  1500.            <entry>
  1501.                                    <title type="html">Of Stone and Walking</title>
  1502.            <author><name>Malinda Miller
  1503. </name></author>
  1504.            <link href="/author/mmiller/of_stone_and_walking"/>
  1505.            <updated>2014-04-23T19:35:59Z</updated>
  1506.            <published>2014-04-23T19:35:59Z</published>
  1507.            <id></id>
  1508.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1509.                        term="meter"
  1510.                        label="Meter" />
  1511.                        <category   scheme=""
  1512.                        term="rhyme"
  1513.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1515.                        <content type="html">
  1516.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1518. &lt;h3&gt;Of Stone and&amp;nbsp;Walking&lt;/h3&gt;
  1520. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Malinda&amp;nbsp;Miller
  1521. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1523. &lt;p&gt;I descend from the men of stone and walking,&lt;br&gt;
  1524. men who labored to haul the rock from canyons,&lt;br&gt;
  1525. men who argued with sons and knew their whiskey,&lt;br&gt;
  1526. men of&amp;nbsp;departure.&lt;/p&gt;
  1528. &lt;p&gt;I descend from the men of digging furrows,&lt;br&gt;
  1529. men who planted potatoes, squash and onions,&lt;br&gt;
  1530. men who carried a gun and took their losses,&lt;br&gt;
  1531. men of&amp;nbsp;conviction.&lt;/p&gt;
  1533. &lt;p&gt;I descend from the men of rustling cattle,&lt;br&gt;
  1534. men who traveled until a woman withered,&lt;br&gt;
  1535. men who squandered their time in search of fortune,&lt;br&gt;
  1536. men out of&amp;nbsp;cadence.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1537.            <summary type="html">
  1538.                &lt;p&gt;I descend from the men of stone and&amp;nbsp;walking,&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1539.        </entry>
  1540.            <entry>
  1541.                                    <title type="html">Pointless</title>
  1542.            <author><name>Philip Quinlan
  1543. </name></author>
  1544.            <link href="/author/pquinlan/pointless"/>
  1545.            <updated>2014-04-20T06:16:02Z</updated>
  1546.            <published>2014-04-20T06:16:02Z</published>
  1547.            <id></id>
  1548.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1549.                        term="meter"
  1550.                        label="Meter" />
  1551.                        <category   scheme=""
  1552.                        term="rhyme"
  1553.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1555.                        <content type="html">
  1556.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1558. &lt;h3&gt;Pointless&lt;/h3&gt;
  1560. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Philip&amp;nbsp;Quinlan
  1561. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1563. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;or, Caveat&amp;nbsp;Emptier&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  1565. &lt;p&gt;Technique as a subject—with practice, made perfect—&lt;br&gt;
  1566. makes no room for object, or defect, or affect:&lt;br&gt;
  1567. clear ceilings revealing the windowless, doorless.&lt;br&gt;
  1568. Who falls to the floor before walls all as&amp;nbsp;flawless?&lt;/p&gt;
  1570. &lt;p&gt;Conceit as the subtext: the absent made concrete,&lt;br&gt;
  1571. the present its context; the airhead as aesthete&lt;br&gt;
  1572. with nihilist leanings, deceitfully preening.&lt;br&gt;
  1573. The meme is extreme: inconceivable&amp;nbsp;meaning.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1574.            <summary type="html">
  1575.                &lt;p&gt;
  1576. Conceit as the subtext: the absent made concrete,&lt;br&gt;
  1577. the present its context; the airhead as&amp;nbsp;aesthete&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1578.        </entry>
  1579.            <entry>
  1580.                                    <title type="html">Rock me, Mama</title>
  1581.            <author><name>Erica Dawson
  1582. </name></author>
  1583.            <link href="/author/edawson/rock_me_mama"/>
  1584.            <updated>2014-04-14T04:07:53Z</updated>
  1585.            <published>2014-04-14T04:07:53Z</published>
  1586.            <id></id>
  1587.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1588.                        term="meter"
  1589.                        label="Meter" />
  1590.                        <category   scheme=""
  1591.                        term="rhyme"
  1592.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1594.                        <content type="html">
  1595.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1597. &lt;h3&gt;Rock me,&amp;nbsp;Mama&lt;/h3&gt;
  1599. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Erica&amp;nbsp;Dawson
  1600. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1602. &lt;p&gt;I-65 has stalled. The spokes&lt;br&gt;
  1603. Of Old Crow’s “Wagon Wheel” have spun&lt;br&gt;
  1604. The road enough. The singer tokes&lt;br&gt;
  1605. And hopes to God he’ll see his&amp;nbsp;one&lt;/p&gt;
  1607. &lt;p&gt;True baby tonight. The saga, sign—&lt;br&gt;
  1608. The fatal bus crash in the ‘80s—&lt;br&gt;
  1609. I’m not far from the Buckeye line.&lt;br&gt;
  1610. And there’s a milk truck and&amp;nbsp;Mercedes&lt;/p&gt;
  1612. &lt;p&gt;As Parks, from “Barstow,” wants his bottle,&lt;br&gt;
  1613. His twenties pissed—and me. I’ve missed&lt;br&gt;
  1614. Another rest stop and the coddle&lt;br&gt;
  1615. Of my own bed. My driving&amp;nbsp;wrist&lt;/p&gt;
  1617. &lt;p&gt;Cramps tight.&lt;br&gt;
  1618.                       Pulled over at the Stop&lt;br&gt;
  1619. ‘N’ Go, I wrestle charring leaves&lt;br&gt;
  1620. From the fog lights. Sizzling wings and, pop!&lt;br&gt;
  1621. A high watt beetle dies. In&amp;nbsp;eaves&lt;/p&gt;
  1623. &lt;p&gt;Of grave-like, ant sandcastle dirt&lt;br&gt;
  1624. I almost want to cross my chest.&lt;br&gt;
  1625.           I wander through the mart and “Hurt”&lt;br&gt;
  1626. In stereo, trying my&amp;nbsp;best&lt;/p&gt;
  1628. &lt;p&gt;To make it look as if I don’t&lt;br&gt;
  1629. Look obvious.&lt;br&gt;
  1630.                       I pretend I’m light.&lt;br&gt;
  1631. Shining in People’s blurb, &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;YOU&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WON&lt;/span&gt;’T&lt;br&gt;
  1632. &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;SEE&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;THESE&lt;/span&gt; PICs &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;EVERYWHERE&lt;/span&gt;, the&amp;nbsp;bright&lt;/p&gt;
  1634. &lt;p&gt;Flash off a starlet’s dress, a wink&lt;br&gt;
  1635. Of black sequins until I dash—&lt;br&gt;
  1636. Ashes. I (“…to a burning…”) think,&lt;br&gt;
  1637. What’s with white boys and Johnny&amp;nbsp;Cash?&lt;/p&gt;
  1639. &lt;p&gt;And afterimages? Does no&lt;br&gt;
  1640. One see essentially this see-&lt;br&gt;
  1641. Me-see-me-not? It’s like lotuses grow&lt;br&gt;
  1642. Down south in blue&amp;nbsp;grass—jujube&lt;/p&gt;
  1644. &lt;p&gt;Served hot with eggs and all’s forgotten&lt;br&gt;
  1645. By noon. I am the lotus: mama-&lt;br&gt;
  1646. And-baby soft, white bunny cotton.&lt;br&gt;
  1647. I’m blooming everywhere to bomb&amp;nbsp;a&lt;/p&gt;
  1649. &lt;p&gt;Flat landscape, cover corn, shield herd&lt;br&gt;
  1650. And house, and families dreaming of me&lt;br&gt;
  1651. With a lullaby of every word&lt;br&gt;
  1652. On the cd spun since&amp;nbsp;Tennessee.
  1654. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1655.            <summary type="html">
  1656.                &lt;p&gt;I-65 has stalled. The spokes&lt;br&gt;
  1657. Of Old Crow’s “Wagon Wheel” have spun&lt;br&gt;
  1658. The road enough. The singer tokes&lt;br&gt;
  1659. And hopes to God he’ll see his&amp;nbsp;one&lt;/p&gt;
  1661. &lt;p&gt;True baby tonight. The saga, sign—&lt;br&gt;
  1662. The fatal bus crash in the ‘80s—&lt;br&gt;
  1663. I’m not far from the Buckeye line.&lt;br&gt;
  1664. And there’s a milk truck and&amp;nbsp;Mercedes&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1665.        </entry>
  1666.            <entry>
  1667.                                    <title type="html">Snail</title>
  1668.            <author><name>Nausheen Eusuf
  1669. </name></author>
  1670.            <link href="/author/neusuf/snail"/>
  1671.            <updated>2014-04-12T14:45:22Z</updated>
  1672.            <published>2014-04-12T14:45:22Z</published>
  1673.            <id></id>
  1674.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1675.                        term="meter"
  1676.                        label="Meter" />
  1677.                        <category   scheme=""
  1678.                        term="rhyme"
  1679.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1681.                        <content type="html">
  1682.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1684. &lt;h3&gt;Snail&lt;/h3&gt;
  1686. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Nausheen&amp;nbsp;Eusuf
  1687. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1689. &lt;p&gt;
  1690. Yes, curious,&lt;br&gt;
  1691. that calciferous&lt;br&gt;
  1692. coiled carapace,&lt;br&gt;
  1693. the ocular stalks,&lt;br&gt;
  1694. the silvery sludge&lt;br&gt;
  1695. viscous enough&lt;br&gt;
  1696. to cross a knife.&lt;br&gt;
  1697. Besides the virtue&lt;br&gt;
  1698. of contractility,&lt;br&gt;
  1699. it teaches a snaily&lt;br&gt;
  1700. sort of humility,&lt;br&gt;
  1701. the kind that sees&lt;br&gt;
  1702. no sin in sloth,&lt;br&gt;
  1703. takes the world&lt;br&gt;
  1704. slowly, dallies&lt;br&gt;
  1705. on a twig here&lt;br&gt;
  1706. and a leaf there&lt;br&gt;
  1707. on its daily round,&lt;br&gt;
  1708. is wholly content&lt;br&gt;
  1709. with its lowly&amp;nbsp;life.
  1710. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1711.            <summary type="html">
  1712.                &lt;p&gt;Yes, curious,&lt;br&gt;
  1713. that calciferous&lt;br&gt;
  1714. coiled carapace,&lt;br&gt;
  1715. the ocular&amp;nbsp;stalks,&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1716.        </entry>
  1717.            <entry>
  1718.                                    <title type="html">Lucretius Armstrong</title>
  1719.            <author><name>Reb Hastrev
  1720. </name></author>
  1721.            <link href="/author/rhastrev/lucretius_armstrong"/>
  1722.            <updated>2014-04-10T04:42:12Z</updated>
  1723.            <published>2014-04-10T04:42:12Z</published>
  1724.            <id></id>
  1725.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1726.                        term="meter"
  1727.                        label="Meter" />
  1728.                        <category   scheme=""
  1729.                        term="rhyme"
  1730.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1732.                        <content type="html">
  1733.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1735. &lt;h3&gt;Lucretius&amp;nbsp;Armstrong&lt;/h3&gt;
  1737. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Reb&amp;nbsp;Hastrev
  1738. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1740. &lt;p&gt;You say tomāto, I say tomăto.&lt;br&gt;
  1741. You say potāto, I say potăto.&lt;br&gt;
  1742. Tomāto, tomăto,&lt;br&gt;
  1743. Potāto, potăto:&lt;br&gt;
  1744. It’s all just atoms and&amp;nbsp;void.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1745.            <summary type="html">
  1746.                &lt;p&gt;Tomāto, tomăto,&lt;br&gt;
  1747. Potāto,&amp;nbsp;potăto:&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1748.        </entry>
  1749.            <entry>
  1750.                                    <title type="html">Derrick Austin interviews Erica Dawson</title>
  1751.            <author><name>Erica Dawson
  1752. </name></author>
  1753.            <link href="/author/edawson/derrick_austin_interviews_erica"/>
  1754.            <updated>2014-04-08T16:27:22Z</updated>
  1755.            <published>2014-04-08T16:27:22Z</published>
  1756.            <id></id>
  1757.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1758.                        term="namerica"
  1759.                        label="Namerica" />
  1761.                        <content type="html">
  1762.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1764. &lt;h3&gt;Derrick Austin interviews Erica&amp;nbsp;Dawson&lt;/h3&gt;
  1766. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Erica&amp;nbsp;Dawson
  1767. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1769. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Derrick Austin&lt;/b&gt;: Congratulations on your second collection, &lt;i&gt;The Small Blades Hurt&lt;/i&gt; (Measure Press), getting picked up! Was the submission process any easier with your second manuscript rather than your&amp;nbsp;first?&lt;/p&gt;
  1771. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Erica Dawson&lt;/b&gt;:Thanks so much! The submission process was definitely not easier. I was pretty new to submitting to contests and presses when I won the Hecht Prize. This time? I’m positive I sent at least two really bad earlier versions (there were many) of the manuscript to every press in America. I owe a lot of people apologies. I’m so excited about the new book, and working with Rob Griffith and Paul Bone, and a press dedicated to new, fresh, original formal&amp;nbsp;poetry.&lt;/p&gt;
  1773. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;DA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: What was the transition like moving from the first book to the second? Were there differences in your process of writing poems, constructing the book? Did you make conscious choices to avoid certain subjects, to work against the first&amp;nbsp;book?&lt;/p&gt;
  1775. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;ED&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: &lt;i&gt;Big-Eyed Afraid&lt;/i&gt; was a new version of my &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt; thesis, so I did most of the writing during my three years at Ohio State. So many of the poems were workshopped in the class one-on-one over a drink, with my thesis committee. It was a communal effort, in a way. The manuscript kind of happened. This time it was much more solitary. I wrote most of the poems after completing course work at Cincinnati, or here in Tampa. And I was more aware of needing to make something happen. I was obsessed with avoiding &lt;i&gt;Big-Eyed Afraid 2.0&lt;/i&gt;. So I mapped out what Book Number 2 would be. Worst idea ever, to even think I could do that. I didn’t leave any room for spontaneity. I was writing poems for a preconceived notion of a book that didn’t exist.  And they were&amp;nbsp;awful.&lt;/p&gt;
  1777. &lt;p&gt;I did relax about it, but I still made conscious decisions to make sure I went in new directions. The first book was so much about identity. In a lot of the poems, I riffed on a particular identity, following it from birth to death in one big sweep. I wanted to get closer this time around: a particular moment, a particular place. I wanted to get closer to the details and let those details do the sweeping, if that makes any sense. I’m not sure if I did or didn’t, but I hope&amp;nbsp;so.&lt;/p&gt;
  1779. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;DA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: Your dexterity with rhyme is truly marvelous. They&amp;#8217;re always surprising, inventive, and they often send me scurrying to Google to look up definitions. But it makes me think of a question that comes up in workshop and in discussion among the poetry community: How much work should a poet demand of his/her readers? Could you comment on the reader&amp;#8217;s responsibility when encountering a poem, particularly one that may come off as difficult or&amp;nbsp;strange?&lt;/p&gt;
  1781. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;ED&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: Thank you. Ain’t nothing wrong with Google. And ain’t nothing wrong with difficult or strange. As a reader, if the title or first line hooks my attention, I’m willing to do pretty much anything to work my way through the poem. It’s my job. I love it when poems teach me stuff I don’t know. That’s part of the point, right? I love the directness of a clear image. And I also love going to an old Greek mythology textbook from college to remind myself which god was which. Having to look something up is a chance to look at another book.&amp;nbsp;Score.&lt;/p&gt;
  1783. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;DA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: Could you talk about the cento featured at &lt;i&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KIN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt; [&amp;#8220;Hip Hop Found Poem&amp;#8221;] inspired by Trayvon Martin? Occasional poems for of-the-moment events seem rare. I&amp;#8217;m curious to know about the composition process for the poem. Had you been working on the poem for a while or was it one of those rare gift&amp;nbsp;poems?&lt;/p&gt;
  1785. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;ED&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: It must have been one of those gifts because I wasn’t thinking about writing anything. I was doing a pretty good job avoiding the entire case. I didn’t want to think about something that was so close. But when the verdict came out, I got really anxious. At some point, I sat down to write just to try to make myself sit down. I think it’s kind of interesting that I felt compelled to do it, but not quite with my own words. I’m not sure what that says about me or my reaction to the case; but, I was thrilled that &lt;i&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KIN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt; wanted to publish&amp;nbsp;it.&lt;/p&gt;
  1787. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;DA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: What are your tips for giving a good reading? I&amp;#8217;ve been to so many dull readings even if the poems are fabulous. There&amp;#8217;s nothing worse than the &amp;#8220;poetry drone.&amp;#8221; You&amp;#8217;re one of the most engaging poets to hear and when the reading is an important way of getting one&amp;#8217;s name and work out in the world it&amp;#8217;s important for writers starting their professional careers to know how to work the&amp;nbsp;stage.&lt;/p&gt;
  1789. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;ED&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: Thanks! I just saw something from Jamaal May on this exact question. I’m sure his answers are better. I’ll say this: When I read to an audience, my number one goal is to engage the people in the audience. It is my job to entertain them, to make them listen, to keep them occupied for however much time I have. I’ve got to keep them involved. I’ve got to look at them, ask them questions, make them laugh, give them a chance to stretch while I digress about football for a second. I have to be prepared but flexible enough to switch the poems around or pull one out and stick in a different one if they don’t seem to be engaged. And, as cliché as it may sound, I just have to be me. There’s no stage Erica and offstage Erica. When you don’t have to assume your “poet identity,” whether that’s the drone or the every-line-break-is-a-question voice, it’s a lot less pressure. A comfortable reader leads to a good reading, in my&amp;nbsp;experience.&lt;/p&gt;
  1791. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;DA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: What poets and poetry collections are really blowing your mind now? Any&amp;nbsp;prose?&lt;/p&gt;
  1793. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;ED&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: Too many thoughts at once. I’ll stick with what’s happened in the last month.  I’ll mention Jamaal May again. He’s incredible. Traci Brimhall’s &lt;i&gt;Our Lady of the Ruins&lt;/i&gt; is fantastic. I just finished two new books: Dan O’Brien’s &lt;i&gt;War Reporter&lt;/i&gt; and Emilia Phillips’ &lt;i&gt;Signaletics&lt;/i&gt;. Both awesome. I’m in the middle of Christine Schutt’s novel &lt;i&gt;Florida&lt;/i&gt; right now, and angry that I have to stop reading to teach class and walk the&amp;nbsp;dog.&lt;/p&gt;
  1795. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;DA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: One of my recent delights has been reading your articles at &lt;i&gt;Creative Loafing&lt;/i&gt;. I often think between prose genres, non-fiction has more in common with poetry, particularly the essay (or in this case the article). They&amp;#8217;re not contingent upon plot and character, necessarily, so much as perception and argument-making. Has your gig as a columnist impacted your&amp;nbsp;poetry?&lt;/p&gt;
  1797. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;ED&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: Thank you. I still freak out when the column deadline comes around. But it’s so much fun and I’m so incredibly happy that &lt;i&gt;Creative Loafing&lt;/i&gt; gave me the opportunity to do this, especially since I’m, pretty much, learning as I go.  Writing prose has reminded me that not everything wants to be a poem. Several poems I’ve struggled with have turned into columns.  Some things seem better suited for fluidity of a sentence stretching across a page. And it’s also reminded me that looking around doesn’t have to be composition. Not everything has to become a poem, or nonfiction, or anything but just casual&amp;nbsp;observation.&lt;/p&gt;
  1799. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;DA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: Shakespeare, Milton, and Tennyson are nurturing presences in your poems. What would you say to a young poet who didn&amp;#8217;t think there was anything to learn from pre-20th century poets? Is there something lost by ignoring poets of the&amp;nbsp;past?&lt;/p&gt;
  1801. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;ED&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: If I could, I’d offer a smack in the face, first. Then I’d say, “You know that ‘Blurred Lines’ by Robin Thicke? Yeah. It’s all Marvin Gaye.” We are so lucky to get to learn from these poets of the past. Ignoring poets of the past is ignoring what you’re doing as a poet. They made the bed. We’re lying in it. Then I’d throw in a bunch more cliché metaphors. And, in the end, I’d force the person to sit and listen to me read something delicious and sexy by someone like Thomas Wyatt. If that didn’t work, I’d probably give up. For about an&amp;nbsp;hour.&lt;/p&gt;
  1803. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;DA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: Speaking of our poetry elders, can we take a moment of praise and worship in the name of James Merrill? You both do things with verse that routinely make me want to throw in the towel and try my hand at being a secretary. What has Merrill meant to you and your&amp;nbsp;poems?&lt;/p&gt;
  1805. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;ED&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: That was one of the best things anybody has ever said to me. Thank you, Derrick.  James Merrill changed my idea of poetry when I was in college. As much as I loved my Shakespeare and Marvell and others, I hadn’t had that come-to-Jesus moment where a poem said, “Yes. You can write poetry. And you can say things like this.” Merrill’s poem “Morning Exercise” (&amp;#8220;I did things on a mat to make me flexible&amp;#8221;) was that moment. I can’t quite put my finger on why. The sentence was honest, direct, and oddly poignant. It wasn’t fancy or lofty or knowledgeable.  Just honest. It sounded like a living, breathing person. I thought to myself, pretty naively, I can do&amp;nbsp;this.&lt;/p&gt;
  1807. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;DA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: One reason your work feels so deliciously alive is because it often incorporates elements of contemporary life, particularly pop culture, in a way that doesn&amp;#8217;t feel gimmicky. So I must ask: What are you watching on &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;TV&lt;/span&gt;? Seen any good movies? Listen to any good&amp;nbsp;albums?&lt;/p&gt;
  1809. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;ED&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: I’m in a constant state of saying, “I’m two seasons behind on &lt;i&gt;Breaking Bad&lt;/i&gt;. Don’t say anything!” I’m in a Food Network, Cooking Channel, &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;HGTV&lt;/span&gt; phase right now. Probably trying to make up for my lack of domesticity. And I have a serious Movies on Demand problem. I order movies in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep. But not good movies. And I’ve pretty much resigned myself from listening to the radio. I listen to stuff I already own. A lot of Mos Def, for some reason. His voice is ridiculously smooth. So, apparently I’m living in a box right now. And now I’m&amp;nbsp;depressed.&lt;/p&gt;
  1811. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;DA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: I read in a recent interview that you&amp;#8217;re working on your third manuscript—busiest gal in poetry world! Can you speak to the direction this collection might move&amp;nbsp;toward?&lt;/p&gt;
  1813. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;ED&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: I shouldn’t have called it a third manuscript. That was jumping the gun a bit. I’ve been working on a few different series of poems moving through the ideal version of something and the actual version of it. Some of the poems I’ve written recently about movie couples are in that bunch. And I’m trying two forms that used to scare the shit out of me: haiku and ghazals. Hopefully, I’ll move towards good haiku and&amp;nbsp;ghazals.&lt;/p&gt;
  1815. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;DA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: Finally, the desert island question: Take three books with you and your favorite&amp;nbsp;cocktail.&lt;/p&gt;
  1817. &lt;p&gt;Vodka on ice. &lt;i&gt;Lolita&lt;/i&gt;. &lt;i&gt;Paradise Lost&lt;/i&gt;. &lt;i&gt;Life Studies&lt;/i&gt;.&amp;nbsp;Boom.
  1818. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1819.            <summary type="html">
  1820.                &lt;p&gt;
  1821. I still freak out when the column deadline comes around. But it’s so much fun and I’m so incredibly happy that &lt;i&gt;Creative Loafing&lt;/i&gt; gave me the opportunity to do this, especially since I’m, pretty much, learning as I go.  Writing prose has reminded me that not everything wants to be a poem. Several poems I’ve struggled with have turned into columns.  Some things seem better suited for fluidity of a sentence stretching across a page. And it’s also reminded me that looking around doesn’t have to be composition. Not everything has to become a poem, or nonfiction, or anything but just casual&amp;nbsp;observation.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1822.        </entry>
  1823.            <entry>
  1824.                                    <title type="html">New NASA Missions Rendezvous with Moon</title>
  1825.            <author><name>Erica Dawson
  1826. </name></author>
  1827.            <link href="/author/edawson/new_nasa_missions_rendezvous"/>
  1828.            <updated>2014-04-08T16:16:58Z</updated>
  1829.            <published>2014-04-08T16:16:58Z</published>
  1830.            <id></id>
  1831.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1832.                        term="meter"
  1833.                        label="Meter" />
  1834.                        <category   scheme=""
  1835.                        term="rhyme"
  1836.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1838.                        <content type="html">
  1839.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1841. &lt;h3&gt;New &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;NASA&lt;/span&gt; Missions Rendezvous with&amp;nbsp;Moon&lt;/h3&gt;
  1843. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Erica&amp;nbsp;Dawson
  1844. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1846. &lt;p&gt;I.&amp;nbsp;Pre-launch&lt;/p&gt;
  1848. &lt;p&gt;Countdown: T-minus seven, six, five, four….&lt;br&gt;  
  1849. The camera’s posed.  The moon can cast its spell.&lt;br&gt;
  1850. Right at the perfect time, the two will score&lt;br&gt;
  1851. The evidential view: they’re doing well,&lt;br&gt;
  1852. Better together. Maybe now they’ll find&lt;br&gt;
  1853. The life source, water we all need, the sign&lt;br&gt;
  1854. We should all be over the moon, and grind&lt;br&gt;
  1855. It out, rock solid, every night: resign&lt;br&gt;
  1856. Ourselves to nature. At the camera’s tine&lt;br&gt;
  1857. And probing, the moon doesn’t appear to notice—&lt;br&gt;
  1858. Not taken off guard, not scared in all that dark.&lt;br&gt;
  1859. You like a mission and a man. Play Otis&lt;br&gt;
  1860. Redding’s “My Lover’s Prayer” to strike a spark.&lt;br&gt;
  1861. Pray, what you gonna to do tonight? You’ve toyed&lt;br&gt;
  1862. Where there is space. There is, no doubt, a&amp;nbsp;void.&lt;/p&gt;
  1864. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;II&lt;/span&gt;.&amp;nbsp;Contact&lt;/p&gt;
  1866. &lt;p&gt;Where there is space there is no doubt: avoid&lt;br&gt;
  1867. The physics, up the possibilities&lt;br&gt;
  1868. Of failure. Once each atom, so devoid&lt;br&gt;
  1869. Of size, swells with the charging chemistries,&lt;br&gt;
  1870. (And vodka flows) there is no hope. You’re screwed:&lt;br&gt;
  1871. Inertia interrupted, senses dulled,&lt;br&gt;
  1872. Intentions cheapened, school girl crush renewed.&lt;br&gt;
  1873. In a matter of minutes, you’ve been nulled&lt;br&gt;
  1874. To nonexistence. Now is not “before.”&lt;br&gt;
  1875. And details just don’t matter: who or whom.&lt;br&gt;
  1876. Countdown: T-minus seven, six, five, four.&lt;br&gt;
  1877. Let in embarrassment and then resume&lt;br&gt;
  1878. The mission. Success? Results too soon to view.&lt;br&gt;
  1879. But where there’s space, there is, no doubt, a&amp;nbsp;clue.&lt;/p&gt;
  1881. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;III&lt;/span&gt;. A&amp;nbsp;hit?&lt;/p&gt;
  1883. &lt;p&gt;But where there’s space there is no, doubt, a clue&lt;br&gt;
  1884. Something’s not right. Up at the moon’s South Pole,&lt;br&gt;
  1885. Right where the camera tilled, it’s black and blue—&lt;br&gt;
  1886. Space’s unending shadow where the sun can’t bite&lt;br&gt;
  1887. Off pieces for illumination. And,&lt;br&gt;
  1888. Up there, distance is short, inches not miles.&lt;br&gt;
  1889. Try to see and not know where you’ll land.&lt;br&gt;
  1890. You’ll find a crater near the rising piles&lt;br&gt;
  1891. Of ice, water that lost its way and course.&lt;br&gt;
  1892. How cold. -308 degrees.&lt;br&gt;
  1893. The cold is bigger than the moon’s own force;&lt;br&gt;
  1894. And our survival hides in the craters’ breadth.&lt;br&gt;
  1895. Though, where there’s space, there is, no doubt, a&amp;nbsp;death.&lt;/p&gt;
  1897. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;IV&lt;/span&gt;. A&amp;nbsp;hit&lt;/p&gt;
  1899. &lt;p&gt;Where there is space, there is, no doubt, a death&lt;br&gt;
  1900. In the afternoon, a pre-work fuck. You’re still&lt;br&gt;
  1901. In honeymoon-like heaven: heavy breath,&lt;br&gt;
  1902. Body on body, energy to kill.&lt;br&gt;
  1903. You watch his every movement, and his mission&lt;br&gt;
  1904. Control. His muscles flex and slack and he&lt;br&gt;
  1905. Chews plastic bottle caps. You are submission:&lt;br&gt;
  1906. The Santeria smitten Shiva she&lt;br&gt;
  1907. Who needs no sustenance, can walk on water,&lt;br&gt;
  1908. Fly high sans happy pills, picture a white&lt;br&gt;
  1909. Ball gown, I dos, the “aww” father and daughter&lt;br&gt;
  1910. Dance, and the toast. You’re dancing just as light&lt;br&gt;
  1911. As Ginger. But, each mission is a tryst.&lt;br&gt;
  1912. Where there is space, there is, no doubt, a&amp;nbsp;twist.&lt;/p&gt;
  1914. &lt;p&gt;V.&amp;nbsp;Houston…&lt;/p&gt;
  1916. &lt;p&gt;Where there is space, there is, no doubt, a twist&lt;br&gt;
  1917. Of fate: Columbia, the Challenger, &lt;br&gt;
  1918. Missions aborted, landing targets missed:&lt;br&gt;
  1919. The universal principles astir.&lt;br&gt;
  1920. Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos irate&lt;br&gt;
  1921. Knowing how Centaurus, the constellation,&lt;br&gt;
  1922. Is poised—all systems go—to obliterate&lt;br&gt;
  1923. Dying white dwarfs. Or a nightly demonstration&lt;br&gt;
  1924. Of how a cloud can just eclipse a star?&lt;br&gt;
  1925. The moon eclipse your world to where’d it go?&lt;br&gt;
  1926. The moon a stranger, sitting way too far&lt;br&gt;
  1927. Away, unrecognizable, seconds ago&lt;br&gt;
  1928. So bright, it’s haunting: there, there, gone. It’s stark&lt;br&gt;
  1929. Where there is space. There is, no doubt, an&amp;nbsp;arc&lt;/p&gt;
  1931. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;VI&lt;/span&gt;. …we have a&amp;nbsp;problem&lt;/p&gt;
  1933. &lt;p&gt;Where there is space. There is, no doubt, an arc&lt;br&gt;
  1934. Of narrative: first there, then now, silence&lt;br&gt;
  1935. And silencing progressions of the dark,&lt;br&gt;
  1936. Away from missions with all the violence&lt;br&gt;
  1937. Of smashing lips, clothes torn, legs splayed across&lt;br&gt;
  1938. A naked mattress. This story is the land&lt;br&gt;
  1939. Of climax, denouement, and albatross.&lt;br&gt;
  1940. You’ve claimed your stake. And now, there is no hand-&lt;br&gt;
  1941. Holding, and nothing speaks but a fountain’s splash&lt;br&gt;
  1942. Below, loud as moon-pulled tides clipping shores.&lt;br&gt;
  1943. From lust and dust to dusty to flame the ash—&lt;br&gt;
  1944. Your space is walls and tables, chairs and doors.&lt;br&gt;
  1945. You did not know that it would come to this.&lt;br&gt;
  1946. Where there is space, there is, no doubt, a&amp;nbsp;miss.&lt;/p&gt;
  1948. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;VII&lt;/span&gt;.&amp;nbsp;Re-entry&lt;/p&gt;
  1950. &lt;p&gt;Where there is space, there is, no doubt, amiss&lt;br&gt;
  1951. Or not, an optimism: future flight,&lt;br&gt;
  1952. For mankind yet another step, the bliss&lt;br&gt;
  1953. Of some uncharted territory. Night-&lt;br&gt;
  1954. Eclipsing shadows never look to be&lt;br&gt;
  1955. A saving grace. And now you have some distance.&lt;br&gt;
  1956. Solitude’s endless time becomes your sea&lt;br&gt;
  1957. Of no tranquility. Rip tides, resistance.&lt;br&gt;
  1958. Faint Venus, broken capillary Mars—&lt;br&gt;
  1959. Fuck looking at the stars. Look at the hoar-&lt;br&gt;
  1960. frost when winter comes back. Then, what was ours&lt;br&gt;
  1961. Is yours. Your stomach drops. You wish your core&lt;br&gt;
  1962. Was hot as the sun. You have a chance. No more.&lt;br&gt;
  1963. Countdown. T-minus seven, six, five,&amp;nbsp;four…..&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  1964.            <summary type="html">
  1965.                &lt;p&gt;Where there is space. There is, no doubt, an arc&lt;br&gt;
  1966. Of narrative: first there, then now, silence&lt;br&gt;
  1967. And silencing progressions of the dark,&lt;br&gt;
  1968. Away from missions with all the violence&lt;br&gt;
  1969. Of smashing lips, clothes torn, legs splayed across&lt;br&gt;
  1970. A naked mattress. This story is the land&lt;br&gt;
  1971. Of climax, denouement, and&amp;nbsp;albatross.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  1972.        </entry>
  1973.            <entry>
  1974.                                    <title type="html">Yours the Moon</title>
  1975.            <author><name>David Lehman
  1976. </name></author>
  1977.            <link href="/author/dlehman/yours_the_moon"/>
  1978.            <updated>2014-03-19T05:50:27Z</updated>
  1979.            <published>2014-03-19T05:50:27Z</published>
  1980.            <id></id>
  1981.                                    <category   scheme=""
  1982.                        term="meter"
  1983.                        label="Meter" />
  1984.                        <category   scheme=""
  1985.                        term="rhyme"
  1986.                        label="Rhyme" />
  1988.                        <content type="html">
  1989.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  1991. &lt;h3&gt;Yours the&amp;nbsp;Moon&lt;/h3&gt;
  1993. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;David&amp;nbsp;Lehman
  1994. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  1996. &lt;p&gt;Yours the moon&lt;br&gt;
  1997. mine the Milky &lt;br&gt;
  1998. Way a&amp;nbsp;scarf&lt;/p&gt;
  2000. &lt;p&gt;around my neck&lt;br&gt;
  2001. I love you&lt;br&gt;
  2002. as the&amp;nbsp;night&lt;/p&gt;
  2004. &lt;p&gt;loves the moon’s&lt;br&gt;
  2005. dark side as&lt;br&gt;
  2006. the sky,&amp;nbsp;distant,&lt;/p&gt;
  2008. &lt;p&gt;endless, wears her&lt;br&gt;
  2009. necklace of stars&lt;br&gt;
  2010. over her&amp;nbsp;dress&lt;/p&gt;
  2012. &lt;p&gt;under my scarf&lt;br&gt;
  2013. that she wears&lt;br&gt;
  2014. against the&amp;nbsp;cold
  2016. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  2017.            <summary type="html">
  2018.                &lt;p&gt;
  2019. &lt;/p&gt;
  2021. &lt;p&gt;Yours the moon&lt;br&gt;
  2022. mine the Milky &lt;br&gt;
  2023. Way a&amp;nbsp;scarf&lt;/p&gt;
  2025. &lt;p&gt;around my neck&lt;br&gt;
  2026. I love you&lt;br&gt;
  2027. as the&amp;nbsp;night&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  2028.        </entry>
  2029.            <entry>
  2030.                                    <title type="html">Seeds of the Storm</title>
  2031.            <author><name>Quincy Lehr
  2032. </name></author>
  2033.            <link href="/author/qlehr/seeds_of_the_storm"/>
  2034.            <updated>2014-03-14T01:39:48Z</updated>
  2035.            <published>2014-03-14T01:39:48Z</published>
  2036.            <id></id>
  2037.                                    <category   scheme=""
  2038.                        term="meter"
  2039.                        label="Meter" />
  2040.                        <category   scheme=""
  2041.                        term="rhyme"
  2042.                        label="Rhyme" />
  2044.                        <content type="html">
  2045.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  2047. &lt;h3&gt;Seeds of the&amp;nbsp;Storm&lt;/h3&gt;
  2049. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Quincy&amp;nbsp;Lehr
  2050. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  2052. &lt;p&gt;&lt;p/&gt;&lt;center&gt;I&lt;/center&gt;&lt;p/&gt;
  2053. &lt;p&gt;I must have lost my accent years ago—&lt;br&gt;
  2054. that’s if I ever had it, twanging vowels,&lt;br&gt;
  2055. slurred consonants—something I suppressed&lt;br&gt;
  2056. between the tongue and teeth and throat and jowls&lt;br&gt;
  2057. or simply lacked. I really don’t quite know.&lt;br&gt;
  2058. Was it a sense of shame still unredressed&lt;br&gt;
  2059. but buried in rounder syllables? &lt;i&gt;How now&lt;br&gt;
  2060. brown cow?&lt;/i&gt; No, wait! Or was it &lt;i&gt;rain in Spain?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  2061. A misadventure on the Southern Plain&lt;br&gt;
  2062. that lasted eighteen years? I don’t know how,&lt;br&gt;
  2063. but it’s the case that when I say “again,”&lt;br&gt;
  2064. it’s a perfect rhyme with New York&amp;nbsp;rain.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2065. &lt;p&gt;It’s raining now, a constant pattering&lt;br&gt;
  2066. against the window sill, and I recall&lt;br&gt;
  2067. being caught out in flash thunderstorms at times&lt;br&gt;
  2068. like this one—a strange elation as the fall&lt;br&gt;
  2069. in barometric pressure, clattering&lt;br&gt;
  2070. distant trains, cacophonies of chimes&lt;br&gt;
  2071. on porches rearranged the very air&lt;br&gt;
  2072. from molecule to macrocosm, fire&lt;br&gt;
  2073. and water, every element, a gyre&lt;br&gt;
  2074. of possible tornadoes. I would stare&lt;br&gt;
  2075. into the churning clouds, past the spire&lt;br&gt;
  2076. of some austere religion—loud and&amp;nbsp;dire.&lt;/p&gt;
  2078. &lt;p&gt;And every time I thought to pray,&lt;br&gt;
  2079. I couldn’t find the words to interact&lt;br&gt;
  2080. with the dust in the air, the cough lodged in the throat,&lt;br&gt;
  2081. the allergies twitching in the nose,&lt;br&gt;
  2082. a thunder wall threatening to break into a sneeze,&lt;br&gt;
  2083. sore-throat days spent in bed&lt;br&gt;
  2084. until the weather turned,&lt;br&gt;
  2085. indifferent to anything I asked or begged.&lt;br&gt;
  2086. I never stood a chance—too delicate&lt;br&gt;
  2087. in health and features to really look the part&lt;br&gt;
  2088. of what we called success.&lt;br&gt;
  2089. It’s just as well, I&amp;nbsp;guess.&lt;/p&gt;
  2091. &lt;p&gt;And you’d stand off to one side; so would I,&lt;br&gt;
  2092. staring with hopeless irony. We smirked&lt;br&gt;
  2093. at where we came from, and we dared to wish,&lt;br&gt;
  2094. at times, for something else. It never worked.&lt;br&gt;
  2095. The pop chart hits got worse; the summer sky&lt;br&gt;
  2096. turned even less forgiving, and so I left,&lt;br&gt;
  2097. seeking the gray of clouds and concrete, cold&lt;br&gt;
  2098. gusts of wind against my face, bereft&lt;br&gt;
  2099. of home or even memory (I lied),&lt;br&gt;
  2100. until I woke up, feeling, if not old,&lt;br&gt;
  2101. aching and fatigued. I&amp;#8217;ll go&amp;nbsp;outside—&lt;/p&gt;
  2103. &lt;p&gt;I like the feel of movement, of the wind&lt;br&gt;
  2104. blowing from elsewhere, a modest morning run&lt;br&gt;
  2105. reminding me that just around the bend,&lt;br&gt;
  2106. a few blocks further from the Southern sun,&lt;br&gt;
  2107. isn’t Utopia, but somewhere hidden&lt;br&gt;
  2108. until one sees it, shaded and unbidden&lt;br&gt;
  2109. and nothing&amp;nbsp;special,&lt;/p&gt;
  2111. &lt;p&gt;but I kept on running for years,&lt;br&gt;
  2112. through bus terminals and airports,&lt;br&gt;
  2113. large cities and small apartments,&lt;br&gt;
  2114. past men yelling at women in Spanish&lt;br&gt;
  2115. or construction workers in Polish,&lt;br&gt;
  2116. and I found myself on a&amp;nbsp;bridge&lt;/p&gt;
  2118. &lt;p&gt;between two boroughs, staring past my feet&lt;br&gt;
  2119. and through the empty leap and to the waves,&lt;br&gt;
  2120. remembering, regardless of the street,&lt;br&gt;
  2121. zip code, time zone, neighborhood, or town,&lt;br&gt;
  2122. outward’s not the only move—there’s down&lt;br&gt;
  2123. and even back. (I’m never going back,&lt;br&gt;
  2124. not now or ever.). I somehow doubt I’ll leap&lt;br&gt;
  2125. or even turn around, although the crack&lt;br&gt;
  2126. of thunder makes me think of you. Too late&lt;br&gt;
  2127. for consolation, it’s too late to weep&lt;br&gt;
  2128. for what I never wanted quite enough,&lt;br&gt;
  2129. for alternate scenarios in sleep&lt;br&gt;
  2130. that give no waking solace. &lt;i&gt;Life is&amp;nbsp;tough.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2132. &lt;p&gt;The memories are hardly clear,&lt;br&gt;
  2133. but come in a jumble of dirt and sunlight, red brick dorms and mobile home dealerships,&lt;br&gt;
  2134. ersatz California blondes in the local team colors&lt;br&gt;
  2135. downing farcically large numbers of Coors Lights on the lawns of sororities&lt;br&gt;
  2136. while fat men in rusty pick-up trucks honk and bellow&lt;br&gt;
  2137. as if it’ll make any difference to anyone&lt;br&gt;
  2138. in yet another endless summer of bad &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AOR&lt;/span&gt; and talk radio screamers,&lt;br&gt;
  2139. of celebrity weathermen and country music blasting like the central&amp;nbsp;air.&lt;/p&gt;
  2141. &lt;p&gt;I try to explain it&amp;#8212;even utter it&lt;br&gt;
  2142. in some compelling way (who gives a shit)&lt;br&gt;
  2143. in bars, in print, in everything between.&lt;br&gt;
  2144. Can you, at least, intuit what I&amp;nbsp;mean?&lt;/p&gt;
  2146. &lt;p&gt;&lt;p/&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;II&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;p/&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2147. &lt;p&gt;Take a common phrase and mangle it&lt;br&gt;
  2148. somewhere between one’s memory and mouth&lt;br&gt;
  2149. between the old impression and the thing itself,&lt;br&gt;
  2150. between the West and&amp;nbsp;South.&lt;/p&gt;
  2152. &lt;p&gt;Beginnings of disintegration.&lt;br&gt;
  2153. Sign lets go of sound.&lt;br&gt;
  2154. The roots appear, gnarled and heavy,&lt;br&gt;
  2155. from the eroding ground.&lt;br&gt;
  2156. Song and saying dissociate.&lt;br&gt;
  2157. The very sound waves strain&lt;br&gt;
  2158. across the shorted wiring&lt;br&gt;
  2159. of the switchboard of the&amp;nbsp;brain.&lt;/p&gt;
  2161. &lt;p&gt;Imagine how a bug might see the place&lt;br&gt;
  2162. through many eyes, and wholly ignorant&lt;br&gt;
  2163. of fragmentation in the retina,&lt;br&gt;
  2164. not sound, not heat, not even in its brain,&lt;br&gt;
  2165. a tiny ball of nerves, a battery&lt;br&gt;
  2166. of fear and mute aggression,&lt;br&gt;
  2167.                                         unaware&lt;br&gt;
  2168. that trying to hold this in a single sweep&lt;br&gt;
  2169. of eyes and green and sunshine is the goal—&lt;br&gt;
  2170. to synthesize what was in something else&lt;br&gt;
  2171. than narrative, to see it in its shapes…&lt;br&gt;
  2172. colliding, recombining, splitting up&lt;br&gt;
  2173. in addled metastasis, illusory&lt;br&gt;
  2174. appearances of fusion that soon break&lt;br&gt;
  2175. into component parts when we awake&lt;br&gt;
  2176. or sober up or go on growing&amp;nbsp;old.&lt;/p&gt;
  2178. &lt;p&gt;I should just let this go and act my age,&lt;br&gt;
  2179. but that overripeness in that summer yard&lt;br&gt;
  2180. hasn’t aged itself, and if I screw&lt;br&gt;
  2181. my eyes to squints, the hard&lt;br&gt;
  2182. twinkles of back-porch lights cut through the husks&lt;br&gt;
  2183. of plants, cicadas, nameless rotting matter,&lt;br&gt;
  2184. wordless dream impressions,&lt;br&gt;
  2185. and an overlay of wordless insect&amp;nbsp;chatter.&lt;/p&gt;
  2187. &lt;p&gt;&lt;p/&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;III&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;p/&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2188. &lt;p&gt;And this is the time that was, the interstitial&lt;br&gt;
  2189. mess of train schedules, demands of course catalogues,&lt;br&gt;
  2190. and the usual tangle of airport&amp;nbsp;terminals,&lt;/p&gt;
  2192. &lt;p&gt;and I’m skimming some bestseller&lt;br&gt;
  2193. with one eye grazing the departure times,&lt;br&gt;
  2194. waiting for the moment&lt;br&gt;
  2195. when I can stop kidding myself&lt;br&gt;
  2196. about the hopelessly gushing paperbacks&lt;br&gt;
  2197. where love conquers something or another,&lt;br&gt;
  2198. books that I’ll never buy but gaze at&lt;br&gt;
  2199. in boredom and&amp;nbsp;disdain.&lt;/p&gt;
  2201. &lt;p&gt;And we both know the aftermath of that&lt;br&gt;
  2202. illusive final page—the moment where&lt;br&gt;
  2203. one looks across the pillow at who’s there.&lt;br&gt;
  2204. The numbers don’t balance; someone smells a rat,&lt;br&gt;
  2205. and we wind up in bed with an alarm&lt;br&gt;
  2206. set early,&lt;br&gt;
  2207.         shuddering as light streams in&lt;br&gt;
  2208. the smudged, indifferent window, blurred and thin&lt;br&gt;
  2209. as a shaky laser beam that does no harm&lt;br&gt;
  2210. but just illuminates the gathered stuff&lt;br&gt;
  2211. on shelves, in drawers, in stacks, and in the bed,&lt;br&gt;
  2212. posing whether this is quite enough—&lt;br&gt;
  2213. accumulated words and sounds and pictures—&lt;br&gt;
  2214. accumulated dreams that others had instead&lt;br&gt;
  2215. of us—fleeting as morning, dour as the Scriptures&lt;br&gt;
  2216. I can’t un-memorize.&lt;br&gt;
  2217.                                         The Holy Ghost&lt;br&gt;
  2218. becomes another figment, just a wisp&lt;br&gt;
  2219. of air recalling words, and at the most,&lt;br&gt;
  2220. it’s semiotics whispered in a&amp;nbsp;lisp.&lt;/p&gt;
  2222. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Do you recall a half-lit parking lot,&lt;br&gt;
  2223. dilated pupils—blue stared into brown,&lt;br&gt;
  2224. does that stir a thing? &lt;/i&gt;Of course it does!&lt;br&gt;
  2225. Another tale of my reserves being shot,&lt;br&gt;
  2226. another tendril from that goddamn town&lt;br&gt;
  2227. drifting out, even now. What never was&lt;br&gt;
  2228. should never haunt me—but the humid air’s&lt;br&gt;
  2229. vague perfume of gasoline remains&lt;br&gt;
  2230. within my nostrils, and your shadow stains&lt;br&gt;
  2231. a long-junked car like red wine on a sleeve.&lt;br&gt;
  2232. We kissed a moment, then I had to&amp;nbsp;leave.&lt;/p&gt;
  2234. &lt;p&gt;Tonight, I feel… I wouldn’t say regret,&lt;br&gt;
  2235. but rather something I would not release&lt;br&gt;
  2236. and carried with me—I could not forget&lt;br&gt;
  2237. the timbre of your voice, though I found peace&lt;br&gt;
  2238. with others—time here, time there,&lt;br&gt;
  2239. other scraps of verse and greater tragedies,&lt;br&gt;
  2240. sardonic jokes and hangovers,&lt;br&gt;
  2241. close-packed boxes and storage units,&lt;br&gt;
  2242. and, at times, a slight nagging sensation&lt;br&gt;
  2243. of assignations permanently&amp;nbsp;missed.&lt;/p&gt;
  2245. &lt;p&gt;&lt;p/&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;IV&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;p/&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2246. &lt;p&gt;What’s the word I’m hoping to convey?&lt;br&gt;
  2247. Where’s the past I’m hoping to relive&lt;br&gt;
  2248. —not to change but understand &lt;i&gt;today?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  2249. What’s the wrong I’m hoping you’ll forgive?&lt;br&gt;
  2250. What’s the mathematics of &lt;i&gt;too late&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;br&gt;
  2251. addition and subtraction, how a friend&lt;br&gt;
  2252. is added or expunged? How long the wait&lt;br&gt;
  2253. until the Reagan years come to an&amp;nbsp;end?&lt;/p&gt;
  2255. &lt;p&gt;And I always think I’m back in the grocery store,&lt;br&gt;
  2256. walking my way through aisles of Cheerios, ravioli, milk,&lt;br&gt;
  2257. dog food, cat litter, apples, various kinds of tropical fruit,&lt;br&gt;
  2258. and childproof bottles of Tylenol,&lt;br&gt;
  2259. and I’m always losing my mother,&lt;br&gt;
  2260. always trying not to cry again&lt;br&gt;
  2261. or throw myself on the bewildered mercy&lt;br&gt;
  2262. of teenagers in ill-fitting uniforms.&lt;br&gt;
  2263. Outside, black asphalt&lt;br&gt;
  2264. stretches like some desolate pond,&lt;br&gt;
  2265. beyond which and down a creek-bisected road&lt;br&gt;
  2266. is the house&lt;br&gt;
  2267. I still imagine as if in chilly haze&lt;br&gt;
  2268. in some sleep-deprived morning&lt;br&gt;
  2269. at the end of a holiday&lt;br&gt;
  2270. just before the start of another&amp;nbsp;semester.&lt;/p&gt;
  2272. &lt;p&gt;Another cup of coffee gets me through&lt;br&gt;
  2273. another morning, a nippy walk to work,&lt;br&gt;
  2274. serenaded by the sounds of whining horns,&lt;br&gt;
  2275. the clanking of construction, and the swish&lt;br&gt;
  2276. of distant jets above—heading where&lt;br&gt;
  2277. I almost wish I was—&lt;i&gt;I won’t go back&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;
  2279. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;It’s only foliage.&lt;/i&gt; Remind myself&lt;br&gt;
  2280. of that. The riotous spread of leaves&lt;br&gt;
  2281. and shadows threatens to engulf the street&lt;br&gt;
  2282. near dusk.&lt;br&gt;
  2283.         I know the place too well,&lt;br&gt;
  2284. each branch and root and twig, each prurient thought&lt;br&gt;
  2285. mused many years ago upon that&amp;nbsp;spot.&lt;/p&gt;
  2287. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;I dreamed it all back then and hoped it true.&lt;br&gt;
  2288. Did I recall your face, or was it more,&lt;br&gt;
  2289. a fantasy, voluptuous and green,&lt;br&gt;
  2290. a never-ending summer, me and you&lt;br&gt;
  2291. or someone like you, just behind the screen&lt;br&gt;
  2292. of a backyard porch, perhaps behind your&amp;nbsp;door?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  2293.            <summary type="html">
  2294.                &lt;p&gt;I must have lost my accent years ago—&lt;br&gt;
  2295. that’s if I ever had it, twanging vowels,&lt;br&gt;
  2296. slurred consonants—something I suppressed&lt;br&gt;
  2297. between the tongue and teeth and throat and jowls&lt;br&gt;
  2298. or simply lacked. I really don’t quite know.&lt;br&gt;
  2299. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  2300.        </entry>
  2301.            <entry>
  2302.                                    <title type="html">The &amp;amp;</title>
  2303.            <author><name>Dwayne Barrick
  2304. </name></author>
  2305.            <link href="/author/dbarrick/the_amp"/>
  2306.            <updated>2014-03-06T00:15:05Z</updated>
  2307.            <published>2014-03-06T00:15:05Z</published>
  2308.            <id></id>
  2309.                                    <category   scheme=""
  2310.                        term="meter"
  2311.                        label="Meter" />
  2312.                        <category   scheme=""
  2313.                        term="rhyme"
  2314.                        label="Rhyme" />
  2316.                        <content type="html">
  2317.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  2319. &lt;h3&gt;The&amp;nbsp;&amp;amp;&lt;/h3&gt;
  2321. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Dwayne&amp;nbsp;Barrick
  2322. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  2324. &lt;p&gt;I do not like the ampersand,&lt;br&gt;
  2325. the thing for “and.”&lt;br&gt;
  2326. We have the alphabet at hand.&lt;br&gt;
  2327. If one means “et”&lt;br&gt;
  2328. and Latin for “the rest of it,”&lt;br&gt;
  2329. why have “c” writ&lt;br&gt;
  2330. with ampersand, half-cooked, half-raw?&lt;br&gt;
  2331. Why not the schwa&lt;br&gt;
  2332. 4 “or” ǝ star 4 “the,” * law?&lt;br&gt;
  2333. ǝ “both” as pound&lt;br&gt;
  2334. &lt;span class=&#34;amp&#34;&gt;&amp;amp;&lt;/span&gt; dollar sign b duty-bound&lt;br&gt;
  2335. 2 serve each round&lt;br&gt;
  2336. of “but” ǝ “yet”? &lt;span class=&#34;amp&#34;&gt;&amp;amp;&lt;/span&gt; what of “is”?&lt;br&gt;
  2337. Parenthesis.&lt;br&gt;
  2338. Not $ a mark 4 “her” ǝ “his.”&lt;br&gt;
  2339. “It”? Percentage.&lt;br&gt;
  2340. $, this ( * computer age.&lt;br&gt;
  2341. 2 text, engage.&lt;br&gt;
  2342. That shorthand ( * future’s groove&lt;br&gt;
  2343. % may $&amp;nbsp;prove.&lt;/p&gt;
  2345. &lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;=and&lt;br&gt;
  2346. ǝ=or&lt;br&gt;
  2347. *=the&lt;br&gt;
  2348. #=both&lt;br&gt;
  2349. $=but/yet&lt;br&gt;
  2350. ( =is&lt;br&gt;&amp;nbsp;%=it&lt;/p&gt;
  2352. &lt;p&gt;I do not like the ampersand&lt;br&gt;
  2353. as thing for “and.”&lt;br&gt;
  2354. We have the alphabet at hand.&lt;br&gt;
  2355. If one means “et”&lt;br&gt;
  2356. and Latin for “the rest of it,”&lt;br&gt;
  2357. why have “c” writ&lt;br&gt;
  2358. with ampersand, half-cooked, half-raw?&lt;br&gt;
  2359. Why not the schwa&lt;br&gt;
  2360. for “or” or star for “the,” the law?&lt;br&gt;
  2361. or “both” as pound&lt;br&gt;
  2362. and dollar sign be duty-bound&lt;br&gt;
  2363. to serve each round&lt;br&gt;
  2364. of “but” or “yet”? And what of “is”?&lt;br&gt;
  2365. Parenthesis.&lt;br&gt;
  2366. Not yet a mark for “her” or “his.”&lt;br&gt;
  2367. “It”? Percentage.&lt;br&gt;
  2368. But/yet, this is the computer age.&lt;br&gt;
  2369. To text, engage.&lt;br&gt;
  2370. That shorthand is the future’s groove&lt;br&gt;
  2371. It may but/yet&amp;nbsp;prove.
  2372. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  2373.            <summary type="html">
  2374.                &lt;p&gt;
  2375. &lt;/p&gt;
  2377. &lt;p&gt;I do not like the ampersand,&lt;br&gt;
  2378. the thing for “and.”&lt;br&gt;
  2379. We have the alphabet at hand.&lt;br&gt;
  2380. If one means “et”&lt;br&gt;
  2381. and Latin for “the rest of it,”&lt;br&gt;
  2382. why have “c” writ&lt;br&gt;
  2383. with ampersand, half-cooked,&amp;nbsp;half-raw?&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  2384.        </entry>
  2385.            <entry>
  2386.                                    <title type="html">Dead at Birth</title>
  2387.            <author><name>Ifeoluwa 'Dele
  2388. </name></author>
  2389.            <link href="/author/idele/dead_at_birth"/>
  2390.            <updated>2014-03-04T02:19:51Z</updated>
  2391.            <published>2014-03-04T02:19:51Z</published>
  2392.            <id></id>
  2393.                                    <category   scheme=""
  2394.                        term="meter"
  2395.                        label="Meter" />
  2396.                        <category   scheme=""
  2397.                        term="rhyme"
  2398.                        label="Rhyme" />
  2400.                        <content type="html">
  2401.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  2403. &lt;h3&gt;Dead at&amp;nbsp;Birth&lt;/h3&gt;
  2405. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Ifeoluwa&amp;nbsp;&amp;#8216;Dele
  2406. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  2408. &lt;p&gt;
  2409. Moving straight; moving bare&lt;br&gt;
  2410. With saddled song of regrets.&lt;br&gt;
  2411. Staying put; moving away&lt;br&gt;
  2412. Along a barbed-wire junction&lt;br&gt;
  2413. Thinking slowly; walking very fast.&lt;br&gt;
  2414. Thoughts cut into two equal halves;&lt;br&gt;
  2415. One half is lonely living among&lt;br&gt;
  2416. Aborted dreams, just at the blink&lt;br&gt;
  2417. Of darkened eyes.&lt;br&gt;
  2418. The other, burning, blazing with fire&lt;br&gt;
  2419. Of fresh affection.&lt;br&gt;
  2420. But the first just rendered the other still,&lt;br&gt;
  2421. Dead at birth.&lt;br&gt;
  2422. Moving there; staying here&lt;br&gt;
  2423. At the barbed-wire&amp;nbsp;junction.
  2424. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  2425.            <summary type="html">
  2426.                &lt;p&gt;Moving straight; moving bare&lt;br&gt;
  2427. With saddled song of regrets.&lt;br&gt;
  2428. Staying put; moving away&lt;br&gt;
  2429. Along a barbed-wire&amp;nbsp;junction&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  2430.        </entry>
  2431.            <entry>
  2432.                                    <title type="html">Story of My Life</title>
  2433.            <author><name>David Lehman
  2434. </name></author>
  2435.            <link href="/author/dlehman/story_of_my_life"/>
  2436.            <updated>2014-02-26T13:44:44Z</updated>
  2437.            <published>2014-02-26T13:44:44Z</published>
  2438.            <id></id>
  2439.                                    <category   scheme=""
  2440.                        term="meter"
  2441.                        label="Meter" />
  2442.                        <category   scheme=""
  2443.                        term="rhyme"
  2444.                        label="Rhyme" />
  2446.                        <content type="html">
  2447.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  2449. &lt;h3&gt;Story of My&amp;nbsp;Life&lt;/h3&gt;
  2451. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;David&amp;nbsp;Lehman
  2452. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  2454. &lt;p&gt;There must be dozens of poems with the title “Story of My Life.”&lt;br&gt;
  2455. Maybe even hundreds.&lt;br&gt;
  2456. It’s a natural, a meme &amp;#8212; which is pronounced to rhyme with team, by the way,&lt;br&gt;
  2457. though I keep thinking it should be &lt;i&gt;même&lt;/i&gt;, as in the French word for “same.”&lt;br&gt;
  2458. It is spelled m-e-m-e and examples include self-replicating phrases,&lt;br&gt;
  2459. “knock knock” jokes, an almost &lt;i&gt;au courant&lt;/i&gt; idiom like “same old same old,”&lt;br&gt;
  2460. or a beer jingle, Emile Waldteufel’s “Estudiantina” waltz (op. 191) adapted to the needs &lt;br&gt;
  2461. of a Brooklyn-based brewery named after a Wagner opera, Rheingold.&lt;br&gt;
  2462. &lt;i&gt;My beer is Rheingold the dry beer. Think of Rheingold whenever you buy beer.&lt;br&gt;
  2463. It’s not bitter, not sweet, it’s the extra dry treat, &lt;br&gt;
  2464. Won’t you try extra dry Rheingold beer?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  2465. What memories that jingle stirs up, mostly about the futility&lt;br&gt;
  2466. of the New York Mets, whose on-the-air sponsor was Rheingold&amp;nbsp;beer.&lt;/p&gt;
  2468. &lt;p&gt;Anyway, this meme, “story of my life,” has the virtues all clichés have:&lt;br&gt;
  2469. You can rejuvenate it, jolt some meaning back into it, while honoring the vernacular,&lt;br&gt;
  2470. and to do that is a challenge for young poets, and an opportunity,&lt;br&gt;
  2471. and so every year a poet on the faculty somewhere is asking his or her students&lt;br&gt;
  2472. to write the poem in them that finds its inspiration in the title &lt;i&gt;Story of My Life&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br&gt;
  2473. It’s not a form exactly but a prompt, an assignment, an idea for a poem,&lt;br&gt;
  2474. like getting everybody to pick photographs of themselves as teenagers&lt;br&gt;
  2475. and write poems triggered by the associations.&lt;br&gt;
  2476. The assumption is that everybody has a story to tell,&lt;br&gt;
  2477. a sad story perhaps but one full of hidden corners and exciting detours,&lt;br&gt;
  2478. and the trick is to tell the story as succinctly as possible,&lt;br&gt;
  2479. it being understood that by “story” the poet means &lt;br&gt;
  2480. not a narrative so much as the suggestion of one, an enigmatic anecdote &lt;br&gt;
  2481. the length of a Zen koan or a poem by Stephen Crane,&lt;br&gt;
  2482. that can serve as the allegory of the writer’s&amp;nbsp;life.&lt;/p&gt;
  2484. &lt;p&gt;And today, as I sit here in the yard of 105 Valentine Place in Ithaca&lt;br&gt;
  2485. hoping to get some sun&lt;br&gt;
  2486. at this time of day when the angle of vision is perfect &lt;br&gt;
  2487. and I can survey my properties:&lt;br&gt;
  2488. the passing clouds that mask the yellow sheen&lt;br&gt;
  2489. of old man sun, and the gray clouds that are drifting off like his daughters,&lt;br&gt;
  2490. and here comes the blue, patches of it, and clouds like big balls of cotton,&lt;br&gt;
  2491. the new hemlock, the adolescent juniper, the old reliable quince bush,&lt;br&gt;
  2492. and three dark, tall, and graceful pines that stand sentry over the pre-sunset celebrations&lt;br&gt;
  2493. of evening, another job accomplished, another day in the&amp;nbsp;book&amp;#8212;&lt;/p&gt;
  2495. &lt;p&gt;I sit here, just as I wanted to do all day,&lt;br&gt;
  2496. with my legs and arms warmed by the sun,&lt;br&gt;
  2497. with my notebook and my pen in hand,&lt;br&gt;
  2498. and I am the Daddy of all the scene,&lt;br&gt;
  2499. knowing the sun and the clouds, the wind pushing them&lt;br&gt;
  2500. and even the stately evergreen with clusters of yellow nuts on its branches &lt;br&gt;
  2501. are performing for my benefit and at my&amp;nbsp;command&amp;#8212;&lt;/p&gt;
  2503. &lt;p&gt;I sit here, as I wanted to do, and the breeze grazes my cheeks&lt;br&gt;
  2504. and there are bowls of plums and white-flesh peaches&lt;br&gt;
  2505. and a sweet-smelling melon on the table beside me,&lt;br&gt;
  2506. and the day offers other enticements to come:&lt;br&gt;
  2507. a swim in a blue pool followed by dinner prepared by Stacey&lt;br&gt;
  2508. for me and special guest son Joe,&lt;br&gt;
  2509. grilled swordfish steaks with the pesto sauce Stacey concocted,&lt;br&gt;
  2510. a salad of heirloom and beefsteak tomatoes, pasta punctuated with corn,&lt;br&gt;
  2511. and a bottle of premium sparkling Blanc de&amp;nbsp;Blancs. &lt;/p&gt;
  2513. &lt;p&gt;And so, now that I have it, what do I do with the happiness of this moment?&lt;br&gt;
  2514. I, who never took a writing workshop but have taught many,&lt;br&gt;
  2515. think of how I would handle the assignment for next week’s class.&lt;br&gt;
  2516. I write about a boy, not me but like me, in green tennis shirt&lt;br&gt;
  2517. and khaki shorts, a blue baseball cap and well-worn brown moccasins,&lt;br&gt;
  2518. and the boy wants nothing more than to sit in the sun&lt;br&gt;
  2519. but always arrives too late: the diagonal line dividing the yard&lt;br&gt;
  2520. into equal areas of sun and shade&lt;br&gt;
  2521. vanishes as soon as he gets there. &lt;br&gt;
  2522. That’s all. I write it in the third person, call it “Story of My&amp;nbsp;Life.”
  2524. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  2525.            <summary type="html">
  2526.                &lt;p&gt;
  2527. &lt;/p&gt;
  2529. &lt;p&gt;and the boy wants nothing more than to sit in the sun&lt;br&gt;
  2530. but always arrives too late: the diagonal line dividing the yard&lt;br&gt;
  2531. into equal areas of sun and shade&lt;br&gt;
  2532. vanishes as soon as he gets&amp;nbsp;there.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  2533.        </entry>
  2534.            <entry>
  2535.                                    <title type="html">Dreams of My Teeth</title>
  2536.            <author><name>Maryann Corbett
  2537. </name></author>
  2538.            <link href="/author/mcorbett/dreams_of_my_teeth"/>
  2539.            <updated>2014-02-22T22:47:54Z</updated>
  2540.            <published>2014-02-22T22:47:54Z</published>
  2541.            <id></id>
  2542.                                    <category   scheme=""
  2543.                        term="meter"
  2544.                        label="Meter" />
  2545.                        <category   scheme=""
  2546.                        term="rhyme"
  2547.                        label="Rhyme" />
  2549.                        <content type="html">
  2550.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  2552. &lt;h3&gt;Dreams of My&amp;nbsp;Teeth&lt;/h3&gt;
  2554. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Maryann&amp;nbsp;Corbett
  2555. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  2557. &lt;p class=&#34;epigraph&#34;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Da spatium vitae, multos da Jupiter&amp;nbsp;annos.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2559. &lt;p&gt;Bug-eyed again. I’m awake in the grip of my clenching and grinding&lt;br&gt;
  2560. teeth. And once wakened, my jaws lock down on the notion of death.&lt;br&gt;
  2561. Yes, they were always connected, teeth and mortality,&amp;nbsp;even&lt;/p&gt;
  2563. &lt;p&gt;when I was seven, and climbing the stairs to the specialty dentist’s&lt;br&gt;
  2564. surgical clinic, and saw them: the skulls in their glassy display cases.&lt;br&gt;
  2565. Death’s-heads, their horrible toothiness wide in its ear-to-ear&amp;nbsp;rictus,&lt;/p&gt;
  2567. &lt;p&gt;thirty-two points of perfection. Which won’t be the lot of a lot of us.&lt;br&gt;
  2568. Me, most especially. Tricked-out, broken, extracted, or missing,&lt;br&gt;
  2569. teeth are the witnesses. Who will be hauled up to talk if your corpus&amp;nbsp;turns &lt;/p&gt;
  2571. &lt;p&gt;up decomposed in the woods, stumbled upon by a drunk?&lt;br&gt;
  2572. Teeth. They keep count of the damages. Never grow back or repair themselves.&lt;br&gt;
  2573. Teeth are the evidence: Fate does not mean us to go on&amp;nbsp;forever,&lt;/p&gt;
  2575. &lt;p&gt;fight though we will. And now I remember my mother refusing&lt;br&gt;
  2576. even at last in hospice, when eating was out of the question,&lt;br&gt;
  2577. even in pain at the end, ever to part with her&amp;nbsp;dentures,&lt;/p&gt;
  2579. &lt;p&gt;because she remembered (and this part I also remember) the hospital’s&lt;br&gt;
  2580. somehow mislaying my father’s, and that was the start of the ending:&lt;br&gt;
  2581. his wandering lost in the hallways, vaguely aware he was&amp;nbsp;missing&lt;/p&gt;
  2583. &lt;p&gt;something important. Juvenal (odd how the mind goes leap-frogging)&lt;br&gt;
  2584. lays it out plainly, the portrait of senex, his toothlessness gumming&lt;br&gt;
  2585. pity, insipid and mush-mouthed, and horror, the salted, the&amp;nbsp;bloody.&lt;/p&gt;
  2587. &lt;p&gt;This is by way of persuading us (&lt;i&gt;O vanitas vanitatum&lt;/i&gt;)&lt;br&gt;
  2588. what we are foolish to want. And before I drift off I imagine&lt;br&gt;
  2589. teeth in the head of Ted Williams, in tin-canned cryonic&amp;nbsp;suspension &lt;/p&gt;
  2591. &lt;p&gt;awaiting the life everlasting, the medicalized resurrection,&lt;br&gt;
  2592. chattering wordlessly, &lt;i&gt;Jupiter! Grant me wide spaces of living!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  2593. Moaning through blue-purple lips, &lt;i&gt;Grant to me years, more&amp;nbsp;years!&lt;/i&gt;
  2595. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  2596.            <summary type="html">
  2597.                &lt;p&gt;Bug-eyed again. I’m awake in the grip of my clenching and grinding&lt;br&gt;
  2598. teeth. And once wakened, my jaws lock down on the notion of death.&lt;br&gt;
  2599. Yes, they were always connected, teeth and&amp;nbsp;mortality,.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  2600.        </entry>
  2601.            <entry>
  2602.                                    <title type="html">Dutch Interior</title>
  2603.            <author><name>David Lehman
  2604. </name></author>
  2605.            <link href="/author/dlehman/dutch_interior"/>
  2606.            <updated>2014-02-19T07:40:12Z</updated>
  2607.            <published>2014-02-19T07:40:12Z</published>
  2608.            <id></id>
  2609.                                    <category   scheme=""
  2610.                        term="meter"
  2611.                        label="Meter" />
  2612.                        <category   scheme=""
  2613.                        term="rhyme"
  2614.                        label="Rhyme" />
  2616.                        <content type="html">
  2617.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  2619. &lt;h3&gt;Dutch&amp;nbsp;Interior&lt;/h3&gt;
  2621. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;David&amp;nbsp;Lehman
  2622. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  2624. &lt;p&gt;He liked the late afternoon light as it dimmed&lt;br&gt;
  2625. In the living room, and wouldn’t switch on &lt;br&gt;
  2626. The electric lights until past eight o’clock.&lt;br&gt;
  2627. His wife complained, called him cheerless, but&lt;br&gt;
  2628. It wasn&amp;#8217;t a case of melancholy; he just liked&lt;br&gt;
  2629. The way things looked in air growing darker&lt;br&gt;
  2630. So gradually and imperceptibly that it seemed&lt;br&gt;
  2631. The very element in which we live. Every man&lt;br&gt;
  2632. And woman deserves one true moment of greatness&lt;br&gt;
  2633. And this was his, this Dutch interior, entered&lt;br&gt;
  2634. And possessed, so tranquil and yet so busy&lt;br&gt;
  2635. With details: the couple’s shed clothes scattered&lt;br&gt;
  2636. On the backs of armchairs, the dog chasing a shoe,&lt;br&gt;
  2637. The wide open window, the late afternoon&amp;nbsp;light.
  2638. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  2639.            <summary type="html">
  2640.                &lt;p&gt;
  2641. &lt;/p&gt;
  2643. &lt;p&gt;And this was his, this Dutch interior, entered&lt;br&gt;
  2644. And possessed, so tranquil and yet so busy&lt;br&gt;
  2645. With details: the couple’s shed clothes scattered&lt;br&gt;
  2646. On the backs of armchairs, the dog chasing a shoe,&lt;br&gt;
  2647. The wide open window, the late afternoon&amp;nbsp;light.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  2648.        </entry>
  2649.            <entry>
  2650.                                    <title type="html">Two Things the Young Poet Liked Way Back Then</title>
  2651.            <author><name>John Whitworth
  2652. </name></author>
  2653.            <link href="/author/jwhitworth/two_things_the_young_poet_liked"/>
  2654.            <updated>2014-02-17T01:40:43Z</updated>
  2655.            <published>2014-02-17T01:40:43Z</published>
  2656.            <id></id>
  2657.                                    <category   scheme=""
  2658.                        term="meter"
  2659.                        label="Meter" />
  2660.                        <category   scheme=""
  2661.                        term="rhyme"
  2662.                        label="Rhyme" />
  2664.                        <content type="html">
  2665.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  2667. &lt;h3&gt;Two Things the Young Poet Liked Way Back&amp;nbsp;Then&lt;/h3&gt;
  2669. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;John&amp;nbsp;Whitworth
  2670. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  2672. &lt;p&gt;I liked it when my arse was&lt;br&gt;
  2673.                 tickled with a feather by&lt;br&gt;
  2674.                                 Botticelli virgins&lt;br&gt;
  2675.                                                 in a knocking&amp;nbsp;shop,&lt;/p&gt;
  2677. &lt;p&gt;since no-one of my class was&lt;br&gt;
  2678.                 sufficently together (sigh)&lt;br&gt;
  2679.                                 to satisfy the urgings&lt;br&gt;
  2680.                                                 of my&amp;nbsp;lollipop.&lt;/p&gt;
  2682. &lt;p&gt;I liked a style of verse in-&lt;br&gt;
  2683.                 geniously erotic, oh&lt;br&gt;
  2684.                                 the flickering flambeau&lt;br&gt;
  2685.                                                 on the black, silk&amp;nbsp;sheets.&lt;/p&gt;
  2687. &lt;p&gt;It went from bad to worse in&lt;br&gt;
  2688.                 polyglot exotic. O&lt;br&gt;
  2689.                                 my flea-bitten Rimbaud!&lt;br&gt;
  2690.                                                 O my blood-choked&amp;nbsp;Keats!&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  2691.            <summary type="html">
  2692.                &lt;p&gt;I liked it when my arse was&lt;br&gt;
  2693.                 tickled with a feather by&lt;br&gt;
  2694.                                 Botticelli virgins&lt;br&gt;
  2695.                                                 in a knocking shop,&lt;br&gt;
  2696. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  2697.        </entry>
  2698.            <entry>
  2699.                                    <title type="html">A Poem Is Being Practiced Upon Me—Not!</title>
  2700.            <author><name>John Foy
  2701. </name></author>
  2702.            <link href="/author/jfoy/a_poem_is_being_practiced_upon"/>
  2703.            <updated>2014-02-17T01:35:38Z</updated>
  2704.            <published>2014-02-17T01:35:38Z</published>
  2705.            <id></id>
  2706.                                    <category   scheme=""
  2707.                        term="meter"
  2708.                        label="Meter" />
  2709.                        <category   scheme=""
  2710.                        term="rhyme"
  2711.                        label="Rhyme" />
  2713.                        <content type="html">
  2714.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  2716. &lt;h3&gt;A Poem Is Being Practiced Upon&amp;nbsp;Me—Not!&lt;/h3&gt;
  2718. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;John&amp;nbsp;Foy
  2719. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  2721. &lt;p&gt;
  2722. It’s been well documented, the taking apart of Robert Lowell’s scaffolding.  For any poet interested in the debate between form and free verse, this phase of Lowell’s life is critical to know.  He began his career devoted to rigorous formal structures and produced &lt;i&gt;Lord Weary’s Castle&lt;/i&gt;, an early book that won him the Pulitzer Prize in 1947 and marked me deeply when I first read it, much later, when I was in my teens.  How can you forget “A brackish reach of shoal off Madaket” or a monolithic statement like “The Lord survives the rainbow of his will.”  Both lines come from the rhetorically wound-up “Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket,” dedicated to his cousin Warren Winslow, who drowned at sea.  Here, as an example of the style, is section&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;II&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/p&gt;
  2724. &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;Whenever winds are moving and their breath&lt;br&gt;
  2725. Heaves at the roped-in bulwarks of this pier,&lt;br&gt;
  2726. The terns and sea gulls tremble at your death&lt;br&gt;
  2727. In these home waters. Sailor, can you hear&lt;br&gt;
  2728. The Pequod’s sea wings, beating landward, fall&lt;br&gt;
  2729. Headlong and break on our Atlantic wall&lt;br&gt;
  2730. Off ’Sconset, where the yawing S-boats splash&lt;br&gt;
  2731. The bellbuoy, with ballooning spinnakers,&lt;br&gt;
  2732. As the entangled, screeching mainsheet clears&lt;br&gt;
  2733. The blocks: off Madaket, where lubbers lash&lt;br&gt;
  2734. The heavy surf and throw their long lead squids&lt;br&gt;
  2735. For blue fish? Sea gulls blink their heavy lids&lt;br&gt;
  2736. Seaward. The winds’ wings beat upon the stones,&lt;br&gt;
  2737. Cousin, and scream for you and the claws rush&lt;br&gt;
  2738. At the sea’s throat and wring it in the slush&lt;br&gt;
  2739. Of this old Quaker graveyard where the bones&lt;br&gt;
  2740. Cry out in the long night for the hurt beast&lt;br&gt;
  2741. Bobbing by Ahab’s whaleboats in the&amp;nbsp;East.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
  2743. &lt;p&gt;There is a booming, Miltonic majesty in the wall of sound that was typical of his early style.  Famously, though, Lowell turned away from this formal rigor to a looser, more variable line that felt less constructed and let the breath of life into his poems.  His change in style from &lt;i&gt;Lord Weary’s Castle&lt;/i&gt; to &lt;i&gt;Life Studies&lt;/i&gt; was as much psychological and spiritual as artistic.  By the time he began writing poems for &lt;i&gt;Life Studies&lt;/i&gt; in the late 1940s, he had lost his wife, his faith and, partially, his mind.  He was, he said, looking for a “breakthrough back into life.”  In his biography, &lt;i&gt;Robert Lowell: Life and Art&lt;/i&gt; (Princeton University Press, 1979), Steven Gould Axelrod remarks that “in the late 1940s, Lowell had been developing an esthetic of plain speech quite contrary to his own practice at the time.  In an essay written in 1948, he said: ‘How few modern poems… have the distinction of good conversation’ ” (p. 85).  That’s what Lowell was looking for as a way back into life, poems that felt like good conversation, not like a phalanx of drums and French horns.  He wanted to get away from “the traditional rhetoric and meter that seemed to proclaim, &lt;i&gt;I am a poem&lt;/i&gt;” (Axelrod, p. 107).  What interests me most as a poet is the simple and rather organic way this shift in his style began.  Let’s look specifically at how his scaffolding came down.  Lowell explains this in the following exchange from Frederick Seidel’s 1961 interview with him for &lt;i&gt;The Paris Review&lt;/i&gt;:&lt;/p&gt;
  2745. &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;INTERVIEWER&lt;/span&gt;: Did the change of style in &lt;i&gt;Life Studies&lt;/i&gt; have something to do with working away from that compression and pressure [of the couplet] by way of, say the kind of prose clarity of “Katherine’s&amp;nbsp;Dream”?&lt;/p&gt;
  2747. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;LOWELL&lt;/span&gt;: Yes.  By the time I came to &lt;i&gt;Life Studies&lt;/i&gt; I’d been writing my autobiography and also writing poems that broke meter.  I’d been doing a lot of reading aloud.  I went on a trip to the West Coast and read at least once a day and sometimes twice for fourteen days, and more and more I found that I was simplifying my poems… If adding a couple of syllables in a line made it clearer, I’d add them, and I’d make little changes just impromptu as I read.  That seemed to improve the&amp;nbsp;reading.&lt;/p&gt;
  2749. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;INTERVIEWER&lt;/span&gt;: Can you think of a place where you added a syllable or two to an otherwise regular&amp;nbsp;line?&lt;/p&gt;
  2751. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;LOWELL&lt;/span&gt;: It was usually articles and prepositions that I added, very slight little changes… It was just done for the&amp;nbsp;moment.&lt;/p&gt;
  2753. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;INTERVIEWER&lt;/span&gt;: Why did you do this?  Just because you thought the most important thing was to get the poem&amp;nbsp;over?&lt;/p&gt;
  2755. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;LOWELL&lt;/span&gt;: To get it over, yes.  And I began to have a certain disrespect for the tight forms.  If you could make it easier by adding syllables, why not?  And then when I was writing &lt;i&gt;Life Studies&lt;/i&gt;, a good number of the poems were started in very strict meter, and I found that, more than the rhymes, the regular beat was what I didn’t want.  I have a long poem in there about my father, called “Commander Lowell,” which actually is largely in couplets.  Well, with that form it’s hard not to have echoes of Marvell.  That regularity just seemed to ruin the honesty of sentiment, and became rhetorical; it said, “I’m a poem”—though it was a great help when I was revising having this original skeleton.  I could keep the couplets where I wanted them and drop them where I didn’t; there’d be a form to come back to… I felt that the meter plastered difficulties and mannerisms on what I was trying to say to such an extent that it terribly hampered&amp;nbsp;me.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
  2757. &lt;p&gt;During this phase, Lowell was starting to appreciate the plain, unornamented language of William Carlos Williams and Elizabeth Bishop (and, a few years later, &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;W. D.&lt;/span&gt; Snodgrass).  By the time he got to &lt;i&gt;Life Studies&lt;/i&gt;, Lowell, in his own words, was doing “all kinds of tricks with meter and the avoidance of meter” to bring his lines closer to real speech.  Here, from &lt;i&gt;Life Studies&lt;/i&gt;, is the poem “Man and&amp;nbsp;Wife”:&lt;/p&gt;
  2759. &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;Tamed by Miltown, we lie on Mother&amp;#8217;s bed;&lt;br&gt;
  2760. the rising sun in war paint dyes us red;&lt;br&gt;
  2761. in broad daylight her gilded bed-posts shine,&lt;br&gt;
  2762. abandoned, almost Dionysian.&lt;br&gt;
  2763. At last the trees are green on Marlborough Street,&lt;br&gt;
  2764. blossoms on our magnolia ignite&lt;br&gt;
  2765. the morning with their murderous five days&amp;#8217; white.&lt;br&gt;
  2766. All night I&amp;#8217;ve held your hand,&lt;br&gt;
  2767. as if you had&lt;br&gt;
  2768. a fourth time faced the kingdom of the mad—-&lt;br&gt;
  2769. its hackneyed speech, its homicidal eye—-&lt;br&gt;
  2770. and dragged me home alive… Oh my Petite,&lt;br&gt;
  2771. clearest of all God&amp;#8217;s creatures, still all air and nerve:&lt;br&gt;
  2772. you were in your twenties, and I,&lt;br&gt;
  2773. once hand on glass&lt;br&gt;
  2774. and heart in mouth,&lt;br&gt;
  2775. outdrank the Rahvs in the heat&lt;br&gt;
  2776. of Greenwich Village, fainting at your feet—-&lt;br&gt;
  2777. too boiled and shy&lt;br&gt;
  2778. and poker-faced to make a pass,&lt;br&gt;
  2779. while the shrill verve&lt;br&gt;
  2780. of your invective scorched the traditional&amp;nbsp;South.&lt;/p&gt;
  2782. &lt;p&gt;Now twelve years later, you turn your back.&lt;br&gt;
  2783. Sleepless, you hold&lt;br&gt;
  2784. your pillow to your hollows like a child;&lt;br&gt;
  2785. your old-fashioned tirade—-&lt;br&gt;
  2786. loving, rapid, merciless—-&lt;br&gt;
  2787. breaks like the Atlantic Ocean on my&amp;nbsp;head.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
  2789. &lt;p&gt;This poem is still rather manic, but it breathes easier than most poems in &lt;i&gt;Lord Weary’s Castle&lt;/i&gt;.  I cite these thoughts and examples not to suggest that anyone reject the heritage of the formal canon (Lowell never did) but to argue in favor of the emotional power of the line.  Clear, unmannered expression trumps a lifeless devotion to metrics.  “Quaker Graveyard” was not lifeless, but the book that came next, &lt;i&gt;The Mills of the Kavanaughs&lt;/i&gt;, was lifeless, and that is what Lowell needed to escape from, and did, in &lt;i&gt;Life Studies&lt;/i&gt;.  To “get the poem over,” sometimes you have to jump the tracks.  For Eliot, he only asked that the ghost of iambic pentameter lurk behind the arras, and if you read Philip Larkin, you see him breaking ranks all the time, and his poems are the warmer for&amp;nbsp;it.&lt;/p&gt;
  2791. &lt;p&gt;Here’s a personal example.  “At Sea” was inspired by a series of paintings by Piet Mondrian called &lt;i&gt;Pier and Ocean&lt;/i&gt;.  In the sequence, Mondrian depicts a pier jutting into the water that gradually disintegrates into visual abstraction along with the surface of the sea.  My poem laments this wandering off into the unreal.  I conceived it as a sonnet in perfect iambic pentameter, but after the final brick was laid, I realized I’d lost the vital, intimate sadness I felt when I stood in front of Mondrian’s paintings.  The poem felt too constructed.  Here is the original&amp;nbsp;version:&lt;/p&gt;
  2793. &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;At Sea&lt;br&gt;
  2794. (original&amp;nbsp;draft)&lt;/p&gt;
  2796. &lt;p&gt;The pier and ocean.  What has happened here?&lt;br&gt;
  2797. What kind of freedom is it that we’ve won&lt;br&gt;
  2798. now the ocean overwhelms the pier?&lt;br&gt;
  2799. The pier is gone, or it is almost gone,&lt;br&gt;
  2800. the lines that it was made of more or less&lt;br&gt;
  2801. disaggregated now till all we have&lt;br&gt;
  2802. are plus and minus signs, a meaningless&lt;br&gt;
  2803. eolian effect upon the waves.&lt;br&gt;
  2804. Is this what you and I’ve become?  No sun,&lt;br&gt;
  2805. no sky, no water we’re familiar with,&lt;br&gt;
  2806. only a broken-up geometry&lt;br&gt;
  2807. that bears no trace of anything we’d been.&lt;br&gt;
  2808. We left the pier behind, what it was worth&lt;br&gt;
  2809. we didn’t know, and now we are at&amp;nbsp;sea.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
  2811. &lt;p&gt;Although this held together as a sonnet, I knew that a cup or two of life had been drained out of it.  What was the problem?  Well, it was technical, and I realized that Lowell had the answer.  I needed to go back to my metrical frame and loosen it so that the poem could breathe.  I needed to bring the phrasing and rhythm of the language back into line with the natural speaking voice so that readers would not feel that a poem was being practiced upon them.  To make this tonal adjustment, I had to knock out some of the unnecessary feet that were padding the lines.  Here’s the final&amp;nbsp;version:&lt;/p&gt;
  2813. &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;At Sea&lt;br&gt;
  2814. (final&amp;nbsp;version)&lt;/p&gt;
  2816. &lt;p&gt;The pier and ocean.  What has happened here?&lt;br&gt;
  2817. What kind of freedom have we won&lt;br&gt;
  2818. now that the ocean overwhelms the pier?&lt;br&gt;
  2819. The pier is gone, or almost gone,&lt;br&gt;
  2820. the lines that it was made of more or less&lt;br&gt;
  2821. disaggregated now till all we have&lt;br&gt;
  2822. are plus and minus signs, a meaningless&lt;br&gt;
  2823. eolian effect upon the waves.&lt;br&gt;
  2824. Is this what we’ve become?  No sun,&lt;br&gt;
  2825. no sky, no water we’re familiar with,&lt;br&gt;
  2826. only a broken-up geometry&lt;br&gt;
  2827. that bears no trace of what we’d been.&lt;br&gt;
  2828. We left the pier behind, what it was worth&lt;br&gt;
  2829. we didn’t know, and now we are at&amp;nbsp;sea.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
  2831. &lt;p&gt;The adjustments I made in this poem were not complicated.  I only modified the rhythm in certain lines.  Specifically, I added a syllable (“that”) in line 3, and I eliminated one metrical foot in lines 2, 4, 9 and 12, falling back into tetrameter.  This kept the iambic integrity of the voice, but it eased the rhythmic predictability that was stupefying the lines.  What I wanted to demonstrate was what Lowell already knew, that “nothing can grow unless it taps into the soil.”  Here, tapping into the soil meant getting the lines closer to the sayable.  I hope this is helpful for poets struggling with the same&amp;nbsp;problem.
  2832. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  2833.            <summary type="html">
  2834.                &lt;p&gt;
  2835. It’s been well documented, the taking apart of Robert Lowell’s scaffolding.  For any poet interested in the debate between form and free verse, this phase of Lowell’s life is critical to&amp;nbsp;know.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  2836.        </entry>
  2837.            <entry>
  2838.                                    <title type="html">Questions to Ask for a Paris Review Interview</title>
  2839.            <author><name>David Lehman
  2840. </name></author>
  2841.            <link href="/author/dlehman/questions_to_ask_for_a_paris"/>
  2842.            <updated>2014-02-12T08:11:13Z</updated>
  2843.            <published>2014-02-12T08:11:13Z</published>
  2844.            <id></id>
  2845.                                    <category   scheme=""
  2846.                        term="meter"
  2847.                        label="Meter" />
  2848.                        <category   scheme=""
  2849.                        term="rhyme"
  2850.                        label="Rhyme" />
  2852.                        <content type="html">
  2853.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  2855. &lt;h3&gt;Questions to Ask for a Paris Review&amp;nbsp;Interview&lt;/h3&gt;
  2857. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;David&amp;nbsp;Lehman
  2858. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  2860. &lt;p&gt;Do you have a favorite time of day? Favorite weather?&lt;br&gt;
  2861. Tell me about your writing process. &lt;br&gt;
  2862. Is that so? I would never have guessed&lt;br&gt;
  2863. Do you ever think about abandoning writing&amp;nbsp;altogether?&lt;/p&gt;
  2865. &lt;p&gt;I’m sorry but I have to ask you this. &lt;br&gt;
  2866. How do you write when you have nothing to say?&lt;br&gt;
  2867. (When I said “you,” I meant “one.” Is that okay?)&lt;br&gt;
  2868. What do you think of&amp;nbsp;psychoanalysis?”&lt;/p&gt;
  2870. &lt;p&gt;You once told me that the greatest human subject is lust.&lt;br&gt;
  2871. Have you thought about how and where you’d like to die?&lt;br&gt;
  2872. Certainly I can clarify.&lt;br&gt;
  2873. I don’t mean now but when you&amp;nbsp;must.&lt;/p&gt;
  2875. &lt;p&gt;But that begs the question. I mean, what &lt;i&gt;is&lt;/i&gt; poetry? &lt;br&gt;
  2876. In that case, what is prose?&lt;br&gt;
  2877. What made you write &lt;i&gt;The Romance of the Rose?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  2878. Is literary influence a Marxist&amp;nbsp;heresy?&lt;/p&gt;
  2880. &lt;p&gt;How do you feel about being labeled a Southern writer?&lt;br&gt;
  2881. Let me play devil’s advocate here for a minute.&lt;br&gt;
  2882. That split is revealing about America, isn’t it?&lt;br&gt;
  2883. When was the last time you pulled an&amp;nbsp;all-nighter?&lt;/p&gt;
  2885. &lt;p&gt;Well (&lt;i&gt;pause&lt;/i&gt;) how about Gore Vidal?&lt;br&gt;
  2886. When your books appear, do you read the reviews?&lt;br&gt;
  2887. How many drafts do you usually do?&lt;br&gt;
  2888. What made you write &lt;i&gt;Beowulf in the Mead&amp;nbsp;Hall?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2890. &lt;p&gt;When did you begin writing?&lt;br&gt;
  2891. If you could choose the place, where would you live?&lt;br&gt;
  2892. What other advice would you give?&lt;br&gt;
  2893. Has being a man influenced your&amp;nbsp;writing?&lt;/p&gt;
  2895. &lt;p&gt;(Or: Has being a woman influenced your writing?)&lt;br&gt;
  2896. Can you say how?&lt;br&gt;
  2897. What are you working on now?&lt;br&gt;
  2898. Those who read your work in the original exclaim upon the beauty of your&amp;nbsp;writing.&lt;/p&gt;
  2900. &lt;p&gt;Would you like to comment on literary affairs in the Netherlands?&lt;br&gt;
  2901. Can anything save humanity?&lt;br&gt;
  2902. Does genius vary inversely with sanity?&lt;br&gt;
  2903. Do you do any work with your hands?&lt;br&gt;
  2904. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  2905.            <summary type="html">
  2906.                &lt;p&gt;
  2907. &lt;/p&gt;
  2909. &lt;p&gt;I’m sorry but I have to ask you this. &lt;br&gt;
  2910. How do you write when you have nothing to say?&lt;br&gt;
  2911. (When I said “you,” I meant “one.” Is that okay?)&lt;br&gt;
  2912. What do you think of&amp;nbsp;psychoanalysis?”&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  2913.        </entry>
  2914.            <entry>
  2915.                                    <title type="html">Self-Interview</title>
  2916.            <author><name>David Lehman
  2917. </name></author>
  2918.            <link href="/author/dlehman/self_interview"/>
  2919.            <updated>2014-02-12T08:07:58Z</updated>
  2920.            <published>2014-02-12T08:07:58Z</published>
  2921.            <id></id>
  2922.                                    <category   scheme=""
  2923.                        term="namerica"
  2924.                        label="Namerica" />
  2926.                        <content type="html">
  2927.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  2929. &lt;h3&gt;Self-Interview&lt;/h3&gt;
  2931. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;David&amp;nbsp;Lehman
  2932. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  2934. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What are you working&amp;nbsp;on?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2936. &lt;p&gt;A sequence of thirty sonnets entitled “Ithaca.” I have lived in Ithaca, New York, part time or full time, for more than thirty years. In the &lt;i&gt;Odyssey&lt;/i&gt;, Ithaca is the hero’s homeland, his origin and his goal, to which he returns following the Trojan War and all the subsequent perils, hazards, and temptations Odysseus&amp;nbsp;endures. &lt;/p&gt;
  2938. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Are you drawn to the Homeric epic for reasons beyond this coincidence of&amp;nbsp;names?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2940. &lt;p&gt;It is as Virginia Woolf writes, explaining her attraction to Greek tragedy:  the spirit of the ancient Greeks &amp;#8220;has nothing in common with the slow reserve, the low half-tones, the brooding introspective melancholy of people accustomed to living more than half the year indoors.&amp;#8221; And I love the &lt;i&gt;Odyssey&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;
  2942. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Why the sonnet form? And why thirty of&amp;nbsp;them?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2944. &lt;p&gt;There’s a reason the sonnet is historically the greatest lyric form in English tradition. It’s extraordinary what you can do within that precise fourteen-line structure. Twelve lines are too few, sixteen too many, and the unequal distribution of the sonnet’s fourteen lines into two asymmetrical stanzas allows you to make the rhetorical shift or pivot that is crucial to your argument or theme. The sonnet sequence gets you to do at least two things at once, because each sonnet must stand on its own and as a unit in a larger whole. In 1987, I finished “Mythologies,” a sequence of thirty sonnets, each consisting of seven couplets, and it went on to win a prize at &lt;i&gt;The Paris Review&lt;/i&gt; and to anchor my book &lt;i&gt;Operation Memory&lt;/i&gt;. I had the model of “Mythologies” in mind when I began work on “Ithaca” two years ago. Each was undertaken at a crossroad in my&amp;nbsp;life.&lt;/p&gt;
  2946. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What is the biggest problem you face as a&amp;nbsp;poet?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2948. &lt;p&gt;Death.&lt;/p&gt;
  2950. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Can you put that in a more intellectually respectable&amp;nbsp;way?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2952. &lt;p&gt;I used to think death was an extension of the reality principle. Then I began to question that assumption. I felt that reality and necessity were two different things. I recalled that Freud’s thinking on the question evolved to the point that he introduced the idea of a death impulse, a drive toward death. Death is the end of life whether you define end as finish or as&amp;nbsp;aim.&lt;/p&gt;
  2954. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;For nearly five full years you wrote a poem each or almost each day. Do you still do&amp;nbsp;that?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2956. &lt;p&gt;Maybe I will try that again sometime in a more limited way. Recently I conducted an experiment in the opposite direction: for thirty days I maintained radio silence, refusing to write poems even if lines occurred to&amp;nbsp;me.&lt;/p&gt;
  2958. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;In your &lt;i&gt;New and Selected Poems&lt;/i&gt; you have new translations from Guillaume Apollinaire and Henri Michaux. Are you making more&amp;nbsp;translations?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2960. &lt;p&gt;I’ve done about twelve or fourteen of Baudelaire’s prose poems and I mean to keep going. A couple of years ago, I translated one of Baudelaire’s most famous prose poems, “Enivrez-vous” (“Get Drunk”), just because I needed it for a dinner toast and was dissatisfied with all the many translations I had read. Alan Ziegler liked my effort and chose it for his new anthology of poems and prose in short forms, &lt;i&gt;Short&lt;/i&gt;.  Around this time, my friends Jim Periconi and Cheryl Hurley organized a Baudelaire soiree and invited me to take part. I said yes and went to the shelf and picked out Baudelaire’s &lt;i&gt;Petits Poemes en prose&lt;/i&gt;, an old favorite of mine. (Way back when, I wrote my doctoral dissertation on the prose poem.) The best translations I could find were done a hundred years ago by Arthur Symons and are a bit creaky. So I thought I’d try my hand at it. I started with “Le Mauvais vitrier” (“The Bad Glazier”). Believe me, it is a major challenge to render a work like that into clean contemporary idiomatic prose that manages nevertheless to convey a flavor of Paris in the 1850s. I got totally involved in it, worked on it for weeks, draft after draft. The next few came with less struggle, but by its nature translation is approximative; there are no definitive translations, which means that every time you look over one of your attempts, you feel like making an&amp;nbsp;adjustment. &lt;/p&gt;
  2962. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;You are on record saying that you turn to “Tintern Abbey” when your own spirits flag. What about the same poet’s “Immortality Ode”? Do you agree with Wordsworth that for the inevitable loss of “the radiance which was once so bright,” there is adequate compensation “in what remains behind; / In the primal sympathy / Which having been must ever be; / In the soothing thoughts that spring / Out of human suffering; / In the faith that looks through death, / In years that bring the philosophic&amp;nbsp;mind”?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2964. &lt;p&gt;There is “Compensation”&amp;#8212;my guide in this conviction being Emerson’s essay of that title. But Wordsworth’s diet is severe: primal sympathy, soothing thoughts, human suffering, the philosophic mind. None of that makes up for the loss of the “splendor in the grass” that you once almost took for&amp;nbsp;granted.&lt;/p&gt;
  2966. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Is Wordsworth your favorite Romantic&amp;nbsp;poet?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2968. &lt;p&gt;No, I prefer Coleridge, Keats, and&amp;nbsp;Byron.&lt;/p&gt;
  2970. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What distinguishes your work from the many new poems that you read in periodicals and books each&amp;nbsp;year?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2972. &lt;p&gt;If you track contemporary poetry you get the feeling that sometimes the poets&amp;#8212;not all, but some&amp;#8212;act as if the world came into being roughly thirty years ago. Some are comfortable writing about their relationships and little else. The past is important to me. Some of my work dwells on it, if not in it. Ideas, too: though I subscribe to Mallarme’s dictum that “poems are made with words, not ideas,” I know that ideas and intellectual problems get my imagination&amp;nbsp;going. &lt;/p&gt;
  2974. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What else gets you&amp;nbsp;going?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2976. &lt;p&gt;The act of revision. I like to raid the drawer for old discarded drafts. It can be inspiring, or sometimes unsettling, to look at the draft of a poem begun ago and abandoned for whatever reason. Just the other day I discovered a poem written, according to the date below it, in August 2008. I had completely forgotten it&amp;#8212;I felt as if I were reading someone else’s poem. I had the detachment to see what worked and what didn’t and to make alterations as needed. It’s as though the poem were already there but encased in the clay, like a Michelangelo&amp;nbsp;sculpture.&lt;/p&gt;
  2978. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Your writing is saturated with literary tradition&amp;#8212;you write in forms ranging from the sestina, haiku, and villanelle to prose poems and poems in ad hoc forms consisting of a fixed number of words per line. Yet your writing is very anti-academic. I am thinking of your poem “With Tenure,” for example, which satirizes that academic institution, or the devastating  book you wrote on deconstruction and the case of Paul de Man, &lt;i&gt;Signs of the Times&lt;/i&gt;. Is there a&amp;nbsp;contradiction?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2980. &lt;p&gt;Maybe there is a problem of classification.  As the son of Holocaust survivors who has written about the experience, I recently made a presentation to a professional group of scholars who specialize in Holocaust studies, and I welcome that association. My work has just appeared in anthologies of sestinas and prose poems and I am very glad to be in the company of others drawn to those forms. I have been labeled “post-modernist” but that term is a bit parochial and out-of-date. There is a comic element in some of my poems. The idea that poems can be serious and comic at the same time has gained traction, though there remains a prejudice against the comic in the academic mind. I like to rhyme, and that is one of the least orthodox things a poet can do&amp;nbsp;today.&lt;/p&gt;
  2982. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Why do you like&amp;nbsp;rhyme?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2984. &lt;p&gt;Probably because I love songs, popular jazz songs with witty rhymes, but also because it’s a challenge to do it well. It’s a way of collaborating with the language to discover something you didn’t know you knew.  Rhyme is one of those requirements that paradoxically liberate the imagination by putting a constraint on it. Rhyme is underrated. Rhyme is what the music of the spheres sounds like in&amp;nbsp;poetry.&lt;/p&gt;
  2986. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;When you lead a writing workshop, do you give prompts or exercises to your students, and if you do, can you give us an&amp;nbsp;example?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2988. &lt;p&gt;I teach at the New School in New York City.  One week last fall, we read poems by Auden, William Carlos Williams, and John Berryman, each one based on a Brueghel painting. We have a Brueghel at the Metropolitan Museum and I asked everyone to go look at it and write a&amp;nbsp;poem. &lt;/p&gt;
  2990. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;If you had no audience, no publisher, would you continue to&amp;nbsp;write?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2992. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2993. &lt;p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;I believe that the poet’s first responsibility is to give pleasure to the reader, whether that reader exists or not. Kenneth Koch loved to quote this mysterious statement, which he attributed to Paul Valery: “A poem is a communication from one who is not the poet to one who is not the reader.” I guess I take a weird pleasure in knowing that something I do is gratuitous, makes no difference to the world, and requires, in the end, no one&amp;#8217;s approval or authority but my&amp;nbsp;own.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2994. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Your poems have some of the distinctive traits of the New York School. In what ways do your poems differ from a model derived from Ashbery, Koch, and&amp;nbsp;O’Hara?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  2996. &lt;p&gt;I feel a kinship with others of my generation for whom the New York School was decisive. I may be more interested than some in history, in trying to understand the present moment in relation to the past. The New York School, when I was exposed to it as a Columbia undergraduate, came as a great liberation. You could write about daily things, real things; you could do something that was literary and even formal but felt fresh and new in colloquial language. You could write with a buoyant rather than a doleful spirit. You could make jokes in poems.  Parody was okay, irony even better. It was an &lt;i&gt;aesthetic&lt;/i&gt; movement. Let me put it this way: the New York School opted for aesthetics as the answer to the end of metaphysics and the failure of politics [to] fill the void left by the gradual death of religion following the abrupt demise of God in a living room in Germany in 1885. What complicates things is that I was raised as an orthodox Jew, and I have it, the old religion, in my bones. I believe in justice and moral judgment and like to go on intellectual adventures in areas far removed from official New York School subject matter. I read and reread Freud, Matthew Arnold, Eliot, Lionel Trilling, Northrop Frye, Mary McCarthy, Susan Sontag; I get absorbed by such things as the Snow-Leavis controversy ignited by a pair of dueling lectures at Cambridge in the early 1960s. And I find myself drawn toward divinity if only to mourn its withdrawal from the world. I have a hunch that Kenneth Koch, my Columbia professor, would be critical of certain poems written in this spirit, though I think he would have liked the wild phantasmagoria of “Yeshiva&amp;nbsp;Boys.”&lt;/p&gt;
  2998. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What is your quote of the&amp;nbsp;day?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  3000. &lt;p&gt;Mark Twain, on the Viennese Parliament in 1897: &amp;#8220;As to the make-up of the House itself, it is this: the deputies come from all the walks of life and from all the grades of society. There are princes, counts, barons, priests, mechanics, laborers, physicians, professors, merchants, bankers, shopkeepers. They are religious men, they are earnest, sincere, devoted, and they hate the Jews.&amp;#8221;  Lionel Trilling, who quoted this, added that “This hatred of the Jews was the one point of unity in a Parliament which was torn asunder by the fiercest nationalistic and cultural&amp;nbsp;jealousies.”&lt;/p&gt;
  3002. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Is poetry&amp;nbsp;dead?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  3004. &lt;p&gt;[In] seemingly regular intervals, an article will appear in a wide-circulation magazine declaring&amp;#8212;as if it hasn’t been said often before&amp;#8212;that poetry is finished, kaput, over and done with, ready for interment. People used to debate whether the novel is dead. There was a split decision that satisfied nobody, and I think proponents were ready to throw in the towel. But people keep on writing novels, and some of them get read and make a dent in the reader&amp;#8217;s consciousness. What is different today is that poetry has moved to the center of this debate. Is it dead, does it matter, is there too much of it, does anyone anywhere buy books of poetry? The discussion is fraught with anxiety and I suppose that implies there&amp;#8217;s a love of poetry, and a longing for it, and a fear that we may be in danger of losing it if we do not take care to promote it, teach it well, help it reach the reader whose life depends on&amp;nbsp;it.&lt;/p&gt;
  3006. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;You are often seen as a champion of American poetry. When asked about changes you have witnessed, you point to the greater diversity in recent American poetry&amp;#8212;the increase, for example, in the number of women, or African-Americans, or Asian-Americans doing accomplished work. You have also drawn attention to the rise of the prose poem and to an increase in candor, especially about sex and the erotic. Have all the changes been&amp;nbsp;positive?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  3008. &lt;p&gt;Death has robbed us of wonderful poets&amp;#8212;irreplaceable figures. We lost James Schuyler, May Swenson, Donald Justice, Ruth Stone, Joseph Brodsky, Charles Bukowski, James Merrill, Allen Ginsberg, Denise Levertov, &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;A. R.&lt;/span&gt; Ammons, Kenneth Koch, Anthony Hecht, Robert Creeley, Adrienne Rich, John Hollander, Seamus Heaney, Thom Gunn, Tom Disch, Karl Shapiro, Stanley Kunitz, Josephine Jacobsen, Jane Kenyon, and Bill Matthews, just to name poets who appeared in early volumes of &lt;i&gt;The Best American Poetry&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;
  3010. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;It has been said that in America today everyone&amp;#8217;s a poet. Is there any truth in that? And is it altogether a good&amp;nbsp;thing?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  3012. &lt;p&gt;It was Freud who argued that everyone is a poet when dreaming or making wisecracks or even when making slips of the tongue or pen. He maintained that daydreaming is a passive form of creative writing. The popularity of creative writing as an academic field has encouraged what might be a natural tendency in American democracy. In the proliferation of competent poems, poems that meet a certain standard of artistic finish, I can’t see much harm except to note one inevitable consequence, which is that of inflation. In economics, inflation takes the form of a devaluation of the currency. In poetry, inflation lessens the value that the culture attaches to any individual poem. Byron in a journal entry in 1821 or 1822 captured this trend with his customary brio: “there are &lt;i&gt;more&lt;/i&gt; poets (soi-disant) than ever there were, and proportionally &lt;i&gt;less&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;poetry.”&lt;/p&gt;
  3014. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Do you feel there has been a rise in perishable poems&amp;#8212;poems that aspire to no greater fame than momentary&amp;nbsp;notoriety?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  3016. &lt;p&gt;No doubt, but you can’t begrudge a poet the blandishments that come his or her way, few as they are. You can’t fault a poet for enjoying the rare day that her or his poem went viral, though on some level we all associate the word “viral” with&amp;nbsp;infection.&lt;/p&gt;
  3018. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Have you ever written a poem whose title is the best thing about&amp;nbsp;it?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  3020. &lt;p&gt;Oh, sure. “Fuck You,&amp;nbsp;Foucault.” &lt;/p&gt;
  3022. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Please name a neglected or undervalued poet that people should&amp;nbsp;read.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  3024. &lt;p&gt;There are so many&amp;#8212;you name the poet, and chances are, he or she is overlooked or underrated. Of the eighteenth-century poets, Thomas Gray is terribly great and too little read. Emma Lazarus wrote superb sonnets and innovative prose poems. Among recent poets, Joseph Ceravolo was a remarkable talent, and I am glad to have had the chance to write the introduction to his long overdue &lt;i&gt;Collected Poems&lt;/i&gt;, which Wesleyan published a year ago. The late Paul Violi wrote wonderfully inventive poems. David Shapiro is an outstanding poet. Two other poets of my generation that deserve a wider audience are Aaron Fogel and Mitch Sisskind. Oh, there are so&amp;nbsp;many.&lt;/p&gt;
  3026. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;How can a poet combat the feeling that his or her work is underappreciated,&amp;nbsp;undervalued?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  3028. &lt;p&gt;You have to resist this feeling if you want to avoid the disappointment, bitterness, and resentment to which too many writers and artists are prone. You can remind yourself that people in all fields suffer from the same feeling. The wise know that it is not only bad form but bad for the soul to broadcast your disappointment in&amp;nbsp;life.&lt;/p&gt;
  3030. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;If you could give your young poet-self one piece of advice, what would it&amp;nbsp;be?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  3032. &lt;p&gt;It would be the same advice I would give to a young poet today. Read a lot of poetry, especially the great poetry of the past; disregard critics, except dead ones; write a lot, every day if possible; and never expect your poems to earn you a&amp;nbsp;living.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3033.            <summary type="html">
  3034.                &lt;p&gt;
  3035. If you track contemporary poetry you get the feeling that sometimes the poets&amp;#8212;not all, but some&amp;#8212;act as if the world came into being roughly thirty years ago. Some are comfortable writing about their relationships and little else. The past is important to me. Some of my work dwells on it, if not in it. Ideas, too: though I subscribe to Mallarme’s dictum that “poems are made with words, not ideas,” I know that ideas and intellectual problems get my imagination&amp;nbsp;going.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3036.        </entry>
  3037.            <entry>
  3038.                                    <title type="html">For C.B.</title>
  3039.            <author><name>Jesse Anger
  3040. </name></author>
  3041.            <link href="/author/janger/for_c_b"/>
  3042.            <updated>2014-01-22T21:43:27Z</updated>
  3043.            <published>2014-01-22T21:43:27Z</published>
  3044.            <id></id>
  3045.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3046.                        term="meter"
  3047.                        label="Meter" />
  3048.                        <category   scheme=""
  3049.                        term="rhyme"
  3050.                        label="Rhyme" />
  3052.                        <content type="html">
  3053.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3055. &lt;h3&gt;For&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;C.B.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h3&gt;
  3057. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Jesse&amp;nbsp;Anger
  3058. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3060. &lt;p&gt;
  3061. If I insist it’s shit, is it? Ici it’s&lt;br&gt;
  3062. ink lilting, slick limbs kick silk—&lt;br&gt;
  3063. I’m in. Insipid nitpicks pick gits,&lt;br&gt;
  3064. &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;NIN&lt;/span&gt; licks. Flickr clicks, kids&lt;br&gt;
  3065. pinning pics, wit, is it? If I tick it,&lt;br&gt;
  3066. list it, it’s nil. This infirm whining,&lt;br&gt;
  3067. in fir ring I ching if I tri ill&lt;br&gt;
  3068. schtick it’s in. I didn’t&lt;br&gt;
  3069. find it illicit if it is I’ll sniff six&lt;br&gt;
  3070.         pills lickity split– mist in wind&lt;br&gt;
  3071. this tilting whirl is grist I riff,&lt;br&gt;
  3072. I drift gist— it’s shit isn’t&amp;nbsp;it?
  3073. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3074.            <summary type="html">
  3075.                &lt;p&gt;I’m in. Insipid nitpicks pick gits,&lt;br&gt;
  3076. &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;NIN&lt;/span&gt; licks. Flickr clicks, kids&lt;br&gt;
  3077. pinning pics, wit, is it? If I tick it,&lt;br&gt;
  3078. list it, it’s nil. This infirm whining,&lt;br&gt;
  3079. in fir ring I ching if I tri ill&lt;br&gt;
  3080. schtick it’s&amp;nbsp;in.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3081.        </entry>
  3082.            <entry>
  3083.                                    <title type="html">Too Much</title>
  3084.            <author><name>Anatol Knotek
  3085. </name></author>
  3086.            <link href="/author/aknotek/too_much"/>
  3087.            <updated>2014-01-15T01:50:40Z</updated>
  3088.            <published>2014-01-15T01:50:40Z</published>
  3089.            <id></id>
  3090.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3091.                        term="visual"
  3092.                        label="Visual" />
  3094.                        <content type="html">
  3095.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3097. &lt;h3&gt;Too&amp;nbsp;Much&lt;/h3&gt;
  3099. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Anatol&amp;nbsp;Knotek
  3100. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3102. &lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;/media/images/issue13/knotek-too_much.jpg&#34; width=&#34;600&#34; alt=&#34;domiNO&#34;&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3103.            <summary type="html">
  3104.                &lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;/media/images/issue13/knotek-too_much.jpg&#34;  width=&#34;400&#34; alt=&#34;domiNO&#34;&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3105.        </entry>
  3106.            <entry>
  3107.                                    <title type="html">Fear of Flying</title>
  3108.            <author><name>John Whitworth
  3109. </name></author>
  3110.            <link href="/author/jwhitworth/fear_of_flying"/>
  3111.            <updated>2014-01-12T04:09:09Z</updated>
  3112.            <published>2014-01-12T04:09:09Z</published>
  3113.            <id></id>
  3114.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3115.                        term="meter"
  3116.                        label="Meter" />
  3117.                        <category   scheme=""
  3118.                        term="rhyme"
  3119.                        label="Rhyme" />
  3121.                        <content type="html">
  3122.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3124. &lt;h3&gt;Fear of&amp;nbsp;Flying&lt;/h3&gt;
  3126. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;John&amp;nbsp;Whitworth
  3127. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3129. &lt;p&gt;Assemble what you need—bamboo,&lt;br&gt;
  3130. Brown paper, string, a pot of glue,&lt;br&gt;
  3131. Feathers from Highland capercaillies,&lt;br&gt;
  3132. Gut from guitars or ukuleles, &lt;br&gt;
  3133. Stout cardboard, twenty small brass screws,&lt;br&gt;
  3134. The sort high class opticians use,&lt;br&gt;
  3135. Seventeen feet of copper wire,&lt;br&gt;
  3136. Are all the parts you will require.&lt;br&gt;
  3137. Follow the plans enclosed, Then cut&lt;br&gt;
  3138. To size and lash it tight with gut.&lt;br&gt;
  3139. When your construction is robust&lt;br&gt;
  3140. And sprinkled with my magic dust, &lt;br&gt;
  3141. Proceed to some convenient cliff.&lt;br&gt;
  3142. Hold both your arms out very stiff.&lt;br&gt;
  3143. Flap. Jump. Now give it all you&amp;#8217;ve got,&lt;br&gt;
  3144. And you will fly. &lt;br&gt;
  3145.                              Or you will&amp;nbsp;not.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3146.            <summary type="html">
  3147.                &lt;p&gt;Assemble what you need&amp;#8212;bamboo,&lt;br&gt;
  3148. Brown paper, string, a pot of glue,&lt;br&gt;
  3149. Feathers from Highland capercaillies,&lt;br&gt;
  3150. Gut from guitars or ukuleles, &lt;br&gt;
  3151. Stout cardboard, twenty small brass screws,&lt;br&gt;
  3152. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3153.        </entry>
  3154.            <entry>
  3155.                                    <title type="html">Needling</title>
  3156.            <author><name>Joey De Jesus
  3157. </name></author>
  3158.            <link href="/author/jdjesus/needling"/>
  3159.            <updated>2014-01-08T22:25:25Z</updated>
  3160.            <published>2014-01-08T22:25:25Z</published>
  3161.            <id></id>
  3162.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3163.                        term="meter"
  3164.                        label="Meter" />
  3165.                        <category   scheme=""
  3166.                        term="rhyme"
  3167.                        label="Rhyme" />
  3169.                        <content type="html">
  3170.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3172. &lt;h3&gt;Needling&lt;/h3&gt;
  3174. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Joey De&amp;nbsp;Jesus
  3175. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3177. &lt;p&gt;a fling a flare a fire affair a force a form—quick, like a running&amp;nbsp;stitch&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3178.            <summary type="html">
  3179.                &lt;p&gt;a fling a flare a fire affair a force a form—quick, like a running&amp;nbsp;stitch&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3180.        </entry>
  3181.            <entry>
  3182.                                    <title type="html">Negative</title>
  3183.            <author><name>Anatol Knotek
  3184. </name></author>
  3185.            <link href="/author/aknotek/negative"/>
  3186.            <updated>2014-01-03T05:50:40Z</updated>
  3187.            <published>2014-01-03T05:50:40Z</published>
  3188.            <id></id>
  3189.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3190.                        term="visual"
  3191.                        label="Visual" />
  3193.                        <content type="html">
  3194.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3196. &lt;h3&gt;Negative&lt;/h3&gt;
  3198. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Anatol&amp;nbsp;Knotek
  3199. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3201. &lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;/media/images/issue13/knotek-negative.jpg&#34; width=&#34;640&#34; alt=&#34;domiNO&#34;&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3202.            <summary type="html">
  3203.                &lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;/media/images/issue13/knotek-negative.jpg&#34;  width=&#34;400&#34; alt=&#34;domiNO&#34;&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3204.        </entry>
  3205.            <entry>
  3206.                                    <title type="html">Blizzard</title>
  3207.            <author><name>John Foy
  3208. </name></author>
  3209.            <link href="/author/jfoy/blizzard"/>
  3210.            <updated>2013-12-29T18:51:47Z</updated>
  3211.            <published>2013-12-29T18:51:47Z</published>
  3212.            <id></id>
  3213.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3214.                        term="meter"
  3215.                        label="Meter" />
  3216.                        <category   scheme=""
  3217.                        term="rhyme"
  3218.                        label="Rhyme" />
  3220.                        <content type="html">
  3221.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3223. &lt;h3&gt;Blizzard&lt;/h3&gt;
  3225. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;John&amp;nbsp;Foy
  3226. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3228. &lt;p&gt;The blowing snow gives body&lt;br&gt;
  3229. to psychotic shapes the wind assumes,&lt;br&gt;
  3230. going sixteen ways at once&lt;br&gt;
  3231. in a night that’s hard to get across.&lt;br&gt;
  3232. A New York City bus is stuck, &lt;br&gt;
  3233. a snowplow too.  The subway’s down.&lt;br&gt;
  3234. Most everyone is still in bed,&lt;br&gt;
  3235. but I put on an overcoat&lt;br&gt;
  3236. and go outside to get to work.&lt;br&gt;
  3237. On Broadway I’m alone and walk&lt;br&gt;
  3238. eleven blocks in the middle lane&lt;br&gt;
  3239. at 4:00 a.m., the only place &lt;br&gt;
  3240. that’s clear enough.  The snow is piled &lt;br&gt;
  3241. some four feet high and drifting still&lt;br&gt;
  3242. in a wind that’s only getting worse.&lt;br&gt;
  3243. I carry a blackjack going out&lt;br&gt;
  3244. so if there’s trouble I at least&lt;br&gt;
  3245. won’t go to the hospital alone,&lt;br&gt;
  3246. but in a blizzard before dawn&lt;br&gt;
  3247. no criminals are on the street,&lt;br&gt;
  3248. just me and a Nigerian,&lt;br&gt;
  3249. Babafemo from Ibadan,&lt;br&gt;
  3250. who drives a cab and stops for me&lt;br&gt;
  3251. and maybe has a gun somewhere.&lt;br&gt;
  3252. We both have promises to&amp;nbsp;keep.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3253.            <summary type="html">
  3254.                &lt;p&gt;
  3255. I carry a blackjack going out&lt;br&gt;
  3256. so if there’s trouble I at least&lt;br&gt;
  3257. won’t go to the hospital alone,&lt;br&gt;
  3258. but in a blizzard before dawn&lt;br&gt;
  3259. no criminals are on the&amp;nbsp;street,&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3260.        </entry>
  3261.            <entry>
  3262.                                    <title type="html">domiNO</title>
  3263.            <author><name>Anatol Knotek
  3264. </name></author>
  3265.            <link href="/author/aknotek/domino"/>
  3266.            <updated>2013-12-24T01:50:40Z</updated>
  3267.            <published>2013-12-24T01:50:40Z</published>
  3268.            <id></id>
  3269.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3270.                        term="visual"
  3271.                        label="Visual" />
  3273.                        <content type="html">
  3274.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3276. &lt;h3&gt;domiNO&lt;/h3&gt;
  3278. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Anatol&amp;nbsp;Knotek
  3279. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3281. &lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;/media/images/issue13/knotek-domino.jpg&#34; width=&#34;640&#34; alt=&#34;domiNO&#34;&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3282.            <summary type="html">
  3283.                &lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;/media/images/issue13/knotek-domino.jpg&#34;  width=&#34;400&#34; alt=&#34;domiNO&#34;&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3284.        </entry>
  3285.            <entry>
  3286.                                    <title type="html">Word</title>
  3287.            <author><name>Cyril Wong
  3288. </name></author>
  3289.            <link href="/author/cwong/word"/>
  3290.            <updated>2013-12-22T09:38:51Z</updated>
  3291.            <published>2013-12-22T09:38:51Z</published>
  3292.            <id></id>
  3293.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3294.                        term="meter"
  3295.                        label="Meter" />
  3296.                        <category   scheme=""
  3297.                        term="rhyme"
  3298.                        label="Rhyme" />
  3300.                        <content type="html">
  3301.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3303. &lt;h3&gt;Word&lt;/h3&gt;
  3305. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Cyril&amp;nbsp;Wong
  3306. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3308. &lt;p&gt;There’s the word for “heat”,&lt;br&gt;
  3309. not the actual temperature rising.&lt;br&gt;
  3310. Without real names, what’s left&lt;br&gt;
  3311. of us in a configuration&lt;br&gt;
  3312. of bodies? With your legs&lt;br&gt;
  3313. hovering over my shoulders,&lt;br&gt;
  3314. we make a deformed tarantula.&lt;br&gt;
  3315. Then when sex concludes,&lt;br&gt;
  3316. pronouns reassert themselves&lt;br&gt;
  3317. to carve out separateness,&lt;br&gt;
  3318. pushing us along grooves&lt;br&gt;
  3319. of lives that turn in widening&lt;br&gt;
  3320. circles around each other.&lt;br&gt;
  3321. Sitting alone again in a bedroom&lt;br&gt;
  3322. that has gone suddenly “cold”&lt;br&gt;
  3323. from rain crashing outside, I try&lt;br&gt;
  3324. to divide text from meaning.&lt;br&gt;
  3325. There’s the word for “alone”,&lt;br&gt;
  3326. not the ache and the hunger.&lt;br&gt;
  3327. For as long as this endures,&lt;br&gt;
  3328. weather is just weather;&lt;br&gt;
  3329. there’s neither heat nor cold;&lt;br&gt;
  3330. and I’m no longer missing&amp;nbsp;you.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3331.            <summary type="html">
  3332.                &lt;p&gt;Then when sex concludes,&lt;br&gt;
  3333. pronouns reassert themselves&lt;br&gt;
  3334. to carve out separateness,&lt;br&gt;
  3335. pushing us along grooves&lt;br&gt;
  3336. of lives that turn in widening&lt;br&gt;
  3337. circles around each&amp;nbsp;other.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3338.        </entry>
  3339.            <entry>
  3340.                                    <title type="html">Interview with Walter Ancarrow</title>
  3341.            <author><name>Anatol Knotek
  3342. </name></author>
  3343.            <link href="/author/aknotek/interview_with_walter_ancarrow"/>
  3344.            <updated>2013-12-19T02:32:17Z</updated>
  3345.            <published>2013-12-19T02:32:17Z</published>
  3346.            <id></id>
  3347.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3348.                        term="europe"
  3349.                        label="Europe" />
  3350.                        <category   scheme=""
  3351.                        term="art"
  3352.                        label="Art" />
  3354.                        <content type="html">
  3355.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3357. &lt;h3&gt;Interview with Walter&amp;nbsp;Ancarrow&lt;/h3&gt;
  3359. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Anatol&amp;nbsp;Knotek
  3360. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3362. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Walter Ancarrow:&lt;/b&gt; You were born in Vienna and speak German, but you write mostly in English. What is your relationship to English? Does it lend itself better to the visual puns for which you are so fond? For example, there is a word in German—you can help me remember it—for when a person has been in the sun for too long and feels tipsy. Your poem &amp;#8220;When the Sun Goes Down,&amp;#8221; the first one of yours to be published at &lt;i&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KIN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;, seems to play with this idea. So why did you write it in English and not German, when German has a specific word for&amp;nbsp;it?&lt;/p&gt;
  3364. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Anatol Knotek:&lt;/b&gt; You mean &amp;#8220;sonnenstich&amp;#8221;? In this case, I just played with the word sun. I was slightly inspired by a piece by [Uruguayan artist] Luis Camnitzer, and I thought of a lovely cocktail on a sandy beach. You have a point here: yes, the most works I publish are in English. But I mainly work in German, the language I feel most comfortable with. It is quite interesting that a lot of so-called puns are possible in both languages with the same word. Very often the same phrases are used. Sometimes I experiment with poems using both languages and sometimes Viennese dialect as well. But returning to your question: I began to use English not because I can speak it perfectly, but because it is understood by most people. Before I made text-art, I was a painter and the question of understanding was not a matter of&amp;nbsp;language.&lt;/p&gt;
  3366. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Tell me about your transition from a painter to a poet. Many readers are probably unfamiliar with your pre-poetry&amp;nbsp;work.&lt;/p&gt;
  3368. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AK&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Most people don&amp;#8217;t know about this phase because I don&amp;#8217;t show these works anymore. In the beginning, there wasn&amp;#8217;t The Word (for me), there was Van Gogh, later Gauguin, Cézanne, and, especially, Modigliani. I had in mind to merge their styles and forms. I made a series of dancing women, the outlines of which are  similar to my &lt;a href=&#34;;&gt;&amp;#8220;Dance of Life&amp;#8221;&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;poem.&lt;/p&gt;
  3370. &lt;p&gt;There have been several coincidences that made me change my mind and style. The two most influencing have been a visit to the Open Book in Hünfeld, Germany where there are concrete poems on more than one hundred house facades; and a visit to an exhibition of Jean-Michel Basquiat. His combination of writing and painting, his &amp;#8220;mistakes,&amp;#8221; the purity and roughness impressed me a lot. He said: &amp;#8220;I cross out words so you will see them more. The fact that they are obscured makes you want to read&amp;nbsp;them.&amp;#8221;&lt;/p&gt;
  3372. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; I find a lot of your work very humorous, a trait that runs through much avant-garde and experimental literature. The antics of the OuLiPo, the cleverness of Edwin Morgan, the U chapter in &lt;i&gt;Eunoia&lt;/i&gt; (an -uggery of -unts and -ucks), are some examples of mischievous play in contemporary experimental literature. What is it about experimentation that lends itself to humor, in your own work or in&amp;nbsp;general?&lt;/p&gt;
  3374. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AK&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Thank you for the compliment! I don&amp;#8217;t know what it is, but it seems that we sometimes find words funny, especially new words or phrases we haven&amp;#8217;t heard before, maybe with a uncommon pronunciation or look? When talking to a child and pronouncing a word a little bit differently, maybe in a dialect, it&amp;#8217;s often the best laugh you can have. And experimenting is fun too! For me a humorous person doesn&amp;#8217;t tell jokes all the time; on the contrary, a humorous person laughs about him or herself, about situations, with and not about others. Language itself is a wonderful example. We are so much used to certain words or phrases that we hardly ever think what they really mean or if there could be a completely different meaning. Language isn&amp;#8217;t perfect and we can&amp;#8217;t explain most of our feelings with words, but it can be a lot of fun playing with&amp;nbsp;them!&lt;/p&gt;
  3376. &lt;p&gt;Humor sometimes seems to be an unexpected turn in thought, maybe unreasonable or at least against the common line of thought. From childhood on we are taught how to see the world. To me, laughing is a kind of symbol for unleashing, for thinking outside the&amp;nbsp;box.&lt;/p&gt;
  3378. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; I would like to hear more about your thought that we &amp;#8220;hardly ever think what [words] really mean or if there could be a completely different meaning.&amp;#8221; Do you mean that you believe words are intrinsic to their meanings, or that, coming to English as a non-native speaker, you are still exploring which words go with which meanings and so&amp;nbsp;on?&lt;/p&gt;
  3380. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AK&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Maybe I should take this generalization back. Actually, I try to avoid these kind of &amp;#8220;judgements.&amp;#8221; It is often that I discover a different possible meaning of a phrase or word myself and wonder why I have used it that often but never thought of it before. I like etymology, and I sometimes look up [its evolution], but that&amp;#8217;s not necessarily the point. I would like to have a fresh, unprejudiced look at language, and I love to discover. I don&amp;#8217;t know if words are intrinsic to their meanings, rather not; but, again, what a word looks like, or what you can do with it, if you add visual language, is what I like to&amp;nbsp;explore.&lt;/p&gt;
  3382. &lt;p&gt;I handle the German words the same as the English ones. Just an example: I made an animation with the word &amp;#8220;juggling.&amp;#8221; All I needed were the dots over the i and j. In German, the word is &amp;#8220;jonglieren,&amp;#8221; in Italian it&amp;#8217;s &amp;#8220;giocoleria,&amp;#8221; in French it is &amp;#8220;jonglerie.&amp;#8221; And the amazing thing is I have all the dots I need in all those beautiful languages. Sometimes all I&amp;#8217;m looking for in a word are special&amp;nbsp;requirements.&lt;/p&gt;
  3384. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; It is obvious you like to play with language. Many of your poems, certainly the ones we are publishing at &lt;i&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KIN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;, take a single word or phrase, free it from any sort of larger context (a line, a stanza, a longer poem), and play with its various meanings. Your poem &amp;#8220;Too Much,&amp;#8221; for example, piles that phrase on top of itself before collapsing under the weight of its O&amp;#8217;s (or, paradoxically, its zeros). Can you explain and expand upon the themes you explore in your&amp;nbsp;work?&lt;/p&gt;
  3386. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AK&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Yes, indeed. They are zeros. You seem to have an expert eye for typography! As you said, I like to work with single words and sometimes with single characters, but also with (shallow) phrases. Most of the time I imagine them visually and immediately write them down in my sketchbook or put a post-it on my wall. I aim to explore the possibilities of words and language in combination with fine arts and sometimes digital art. That&amp;#8217;s it&amp;nbsp;mostly.&lt;/p&gt;
  3388. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Your two latest collections, &lt;i&gt;Anachronism&lt;/i&gt; and &lt;i&gt;2 4get her&lt;/i&gt;, are collections of typewriter poems. Explain a bit about the typewriter as a means of composition in 2013. Why would anyone bother to write with such an antiquated (or as you say, anachronistic)&amp;nbsp;machine?&lt;/p&gt;
  3390. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AK&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; At the moment I&amp;#8217;m really in love with my typewriter—the whole process, the constraints, the simplicity and the raw, pure aesthetic. It all started when I wanted to write something on toilet paper. I bought an old, used typewriter for 1 Euro and a new ribbon. The more I experimented with it, the more I liked the style and the possibilities. It&amp;#8217;s so simple, direct. The strength of the keystroke is immediately visible, and so are mistakes. Because the letters are monospaced [every letter takes up the same width on paper], a kind of (mathematical) text-construction that works very well for concrete poetry can be applied. I took my old ideas that emerged at the computer and tried to implement them with the typewriter. The results were much more simple and&amp;nbsp;clearer.&lt;/p&gt;
  3392. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Anachronism&lt;/i&gt; is an ongoing project where the context always varies. I write the poems directly with my typewriter, so no computer or printer is needed at all, except for the cover. I wanted to have a collection that I can add new work to over and over again, and each reader has a unique&amp;nbsp;piece.&lt;/p&gt;
  3394. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;2 4get her&lt;/i&gt; is a collection of 50 poems this time written with the typewriter, but then scanned and printed. In both books I also cut the paper, tear and mend it together again. I use correction tape and some other techniques unusual for poetry&amp;nbsp;collections.&lt;/p&gt;
  3396. &lt;p&gt;If you want it to, using the typewriter can be seen as a statement. When it comes to art, the time-context is always crucial. And I know which times I use the typewriter as my tool! I studied computer science and was used to &amp;#8220;the faster the better&amp;#8221; [mentality]. There is this proverb, that the soul travels with the speed of a camel, and I kind of felt this during long travels in Asia. Sometimes I have the feeling that this is similar with&amp;nbsp;technology.&lt;/p&gt;
  3398. &lt;p&gt;Both books are self-published and completely self-made. I also wanted to show how easy it can be publishing and selling your own books independently. [I have] nothing against modern technology, modern times, etc.; on the contrary, I use modern technology when it&amp;#8217;s useful for me. I&amp;#8217;m just showing an alternative. Not everything that is old is bad, not all the new things are rubbish. Maybe it&amp;#8217;s about balance and a slightly different point of&amp;nbsp;view.&lt;/p&gt;
  3400. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; You have exhibited your visual poems all over Europe. For our American readers, what is the poetry scene like over there, particularly in Vienna where you are based? I know experimental poets like Ernst Jandl were very popular in Austria, whereas in the United States, the avant-garde remains&amp;nbsp;niche.&lt;/p&gt;
  3402. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AK&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Avant-garde art in general and especially poetry is always a small niche—per definition? I think that&amp;#8217;s the same all over the world. Is it good, is it bad? I don&amp;#8217;t know. I wished more people would take an interest in art, but I don&amp;#8217;t know how I would react when suddenly everybody on the street is talking about visual poetry! I know little about the literature scene in Vienna or elsewhere. I concentrate what is going on in the internet, what people from all over the world are working on right now. Maybe real poets are different, because many of them perform and read their works out loud in front of each other. I don&amp;#8217;t have to be present when someone is looking at a work of&amp;nbsp;mine.&lt;/p&gt;
  3404. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; What do you mean by &amp;#8220;real&amp;#8221;&amp;nbsp;poets?&lt;/p&gt;
  3406. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AK&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Those who use whole sentences and&amp;nbsp;more!&lt;/p&gt;
  3408. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; For some of &lt;i&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KIN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&amp;#8216;s audience reading visual and concrete poetry is a new experience. What, in your opinion, makes a visual poem successful? What can the uninitiated look for when they read visual&amp;nbsp;poetry?&lt;/p&gt;
  3410. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AK&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; It is the combination of reading, looking and checking for possible meanings. If it is not straightforward, if it doesn&amp;#8217;t tell you what to think, but makes you think, I have done my task. I always say when asked similar questions: I am most satisfied if I can see a little silent smile on the viewers face. That gives me a good feeling. That&amp;#8217;s all the reward I aim&amp;nbsp;for.&lt;/p&gt;
  3412. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Since your poems are fun and accessible, I think you make a good starting point for those interested in visual poetry, but beyond yourself, who do you recommend we&amp;nbsp;read?&lt;/p&gt;
  3414. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AK&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; I started my interest in art with Van Gogh. Reading his letters and reading about his inspiration, his point of view, and the artists he admired taught me a lot. I began to follow his interests. Of course it was a long way from expressionistic painting to visual poetry and conceptual art, but it was my path where I was enthusiastic enough to soak everything in and it still works that&amp;nbsp;way.&lt;/p&gt;
  3416. &lt;p&gt;If anyone who is interested in the kind of poetry and art I do, I would recommend to take a look at &lt;a href=&#34;;&gt;my blog&lt;/a&gt;, of course, or to buy or borrow an anthology, for example, the &lt;i&gt;Anthology of Concrete Poetry&lt;/i&gt; edited by Emmett Williams, where you can find works from all over the world, including translations. The book &lt;i&gt;Konkrete poesie&lt;/i&gt;, published by Reclam and edited by Eugen Gomringer, was an eye opener for me years ago, but it is only in German. Or just browse the &lt;a href=&#34;;&gt;Sackner archive&lt;/a&gt;, the biggest collection of concrete and visual poetry! Start somewhere and follow the path of your own interest would be my obvious&amp;nbsp;recommendation.&lt;/p&gt;
  3418. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Thanks for mentioning the Sackner archives, which are a great resource for anyone wanting to learn more about visual poetry. I have been reading recently &lt;i&gt;The Last Vispo Anthology&lt;/i&gt;, which includes two of your poems. Visual poetry has since the time of George Herbert&amp;#8217;s &amp;#8220;Easter Wings&amp;#8221; become increasingly abstract. Where is visual poetry going, and at what point will it cease to be poetry and just become visual art? Perhaps you do not make such silly distinctions in your&amp;nbsp;work.&lt;/p&gt;
  3420. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AK&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Not silly at all, but you are right I don&amp;#8217;t make those distinctions. Actually, I use the term &amp;#8220;visual poetry&amp;#8221; because it comes near to what I consider myself doing. Other people use it because of the same reason, but make completely different things. I guess artists and poets don&amp;#8217;t let them lead by a term or style. These are only categories people use who talk about art; you don&amp;#8217;t need them while making art, I&amp;nbsp;guess.&lt;/p&gt;
  3422. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;WA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; One thing I notice about your work is how it seems to bridge the gap between the typewriter-written concrete poetry of the 1960s and the more abstract, less textual visual poetry popular today. What is the next step for visual&amp;nbsp;poets?&lt;/p&gt;
  3424. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AK&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; It&amp;#8217;s a pity I can&amp;#8217;t scry! But if I&amp;#8217;m honest, I don&amp;#8217;t have a real feeling about where visual poetry stands today, in terms of prominence, compared to, let&amp;#8217;s say, 30 years ago. What I see is that there are, on the one hand, a lot of new possibilities for word artists nowadays, and on the other hand, I feel that a lot of people would be more interested in visual poetry if they only knew it existed. The new forms of making visual poems on the computer, making digital word illustrations or even animation is picked up very well by a lot of poets. The wonderful possibility to publish your work online, to show it to thousands of people through social media is a huge leap, not just for visual poetry, although I think it fits visual poetry exceptionally well. Because visual poetry is neither &amp;#8220;real art&amp;#8221; nor &amp;#8220;real poetry,&amp;#8221; it isn&amp;#8217;t very well admitted by galleries or publishers. They don&amp;#8217;t know how to handle it. I&amp;#8217;m sure they will at some point, but that still takes some time, I think. Meanwhile, the internet works more than well for&amp;nbsp;me.&lt;/p&gt;
  3426. &lt;p&gt;In my work, or maybe it&amp;#8217;s in my personality, I always try to combine and connect the dots. Often I make a step back and instead of writing and manipulating on my computer, I take my typewriter and see what happens. After writing something on the typewriter, I sometimes scan it and manipulate it again or make animations with it. A similar thing happens when I use different material for my work; the meaning can change completely when you write something on the computer or on paper or if the letters literally stand in a room or hang on the wall. That&amp;#8217;s how I experiment—back and forth and back again—and so it happens that I am very often surprised how my own point of view&amp;nbsp;changes.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3427.            <summary type="html">
  3428.                &lt;p&gt;
  3429. I handle the German words the same as the English ones. Just an example: I made an animation with the word &amp;#8220;juggling.&amp;#8221; All I needed were the dots over the i and j. In German, the word is &amp;#8220;jonglieren,&amp;#8221; in Italian it&amp;#8217;s &amp;#8220;giocoleria,&amp;#8221; in French it is &amp;#8220;jonglerie.&amp;#8221; And the amazing thing is I have all the dots I need in all those beautiful languages. Sometimes all I&amp;#8217;m looking for in a word are special&amp;nbsp;requirements.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3430.        </entry>
  3431.            <entry>
  3432.                                    <title type="html">When the Sun Goes Down</title>
  3433.            <author><name>Anatol Knotek
  3434. </name></author>
  3435.            <link href="/author/aknotek/when_the_sun_goes_down"/>
  3436.            <updated>2013-12-19T01:50:40Z</updated>
  3437.            <published>2013-12-19T01:50:40Z</published>
  3438.            <id></id>
  3439.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3440.                        term="visual"
  3441.                        label="Visual" />
  3443.                        <content type="html">
  3444.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3446. &lt;h3&gt;When the Sun Goes&amp;nbsp;Down&lt;/h3&gt;
  3448. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Anatol&amp;nbsp;Knotek
  3449. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3451. &lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;/media/images/issue13/kotek-when_the_sun_goes_down.jpg&#34; width=&#34;720&#34; alt=&#34;When the Sun Goes Down&#34;&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3452.            <summary type="html">
  3453.                &lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;/media/images/issue13/kotek-when_the_sun_goes_down.jpg&#34;  width=&#34;500&#34; alt=&#34;When the Sun Goes Down&#34;&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3454.        </entry>
  3455.            <entry>
  3456.                                    <title type="html">Catullus 16</title>
  3457.            <author><name>Chris Childers
  3458. </name></author>
  3459.            <link href="/author/cchilders/catullus_16"/>
  3460.            <updated>2013-12-16T06:37:13Z</updated>
  3461.            <published>2013-12-16T06:37:13Z</published>
  3462.            <id></id>
  3463.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3464.                        term="meter"
  3465.                        label="Meter" />
  3466.                        <category   scheme=""
  3467.                        term="rhyme"
  3468.                        label="Rhyme" />
  3470.                        <content type="html">
  3471.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3473. &lt;h3&gt;Catullus&amp;nbsp;16&lt;/h3&gt;
  3475. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Chris&amp;nbsp;Childers
  3476. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3478. &lt;p&gt;I’ll fuck you in the ass and throat,&lt;br&gt;
  3479. Aurelius and Furius:&lt;br&gt;
  3480. both of you tend to play the bitch.&lt;br&gt;
  3481. You read my poems and labeled &lt;i&gt;me&lt;/i&gt;—&lt;br&gt;
  3482. since they’re a little titillating—&lt;br&gt;
  3483. a shameless pervert, and indecent. &lt;br&gt;
  3484. A poet ought to keep his life&lt;br&gt;
  3485. decent, not his poetry;&lt;br&gt;
  3486. it gives the poems charm and wit&lt;br&gt;
  3487. if they’re a little titillating,&lt;br&gt;
  3488. a little shameless, and can get&lt;br&gt;
  3489. a fellow going, make him itch—&lt;br&gt;
  3490. not boys (too easy!), hairy geezers&lt;br&gt;
  3491. who can’t get up below the belt. &lt;br&gt;
  3492. You read my poem about the kisses&lt;br&gt;
  3493. and thought I wasn’t man enough?&lt;br&gt;
  3494. I’ll fuck you in the ass and&amp;nbsp;throat.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3495.            <summary type="html">
  3496.                &lt;p&gt;I’ll fuck you in the ass and throat,&lt;br&gt;
  3497. Aurelius and Furius:&lt;br&gt;
  3498. both of you tend to play the&amp;nbsp;bitch.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3499.        </entry>
  3500.            <entry>
  3501.                                    <title type="html">Dread</title>
  3502.            <author><name>Kate Bernadette Benedict
  3503. </name></author>
  3504.            <link href="/author/kbbenedict/dread"/>
  3505.            <updated>2013-12-14T08:09:56Z</updated>
  3506.            <published>2013-12-14T08:09:56Z</published>
  3507.            <id></id>
  3508.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3509.                        term="meter"
  3510.                        label="Meter" />
  3511.                        <category   scheme=""
  3512.                        term="rhyme"
  3513.                        label="Rhyme" />
  3515.                        <content type="html">
  3516.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3518. &lt;h3&gt;Dread&lt;/h3&gt;
  3520. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Kate Bernadette&amp;nbsp;Benedict
  3521. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3523. &lt;p&gt;What is the color of dread?&lt;br&gt;
  3524.           Whiter than eye-white, searing&amp;nbsp;white.&lt;/p&gt;
  3526. &lt;p&gt;What is the odor of dread?&lt;br&gt;
  3527.           Sewer gas, a whiff only, quite&amp;nbsp;slight.&lt;/p&gt;
  3529. &lt;p&gt;What is the sound of dread?&lt;br&gt;
  3530.           Sore lungs&amp;nbsp;wheezing.&lt;/p&gt;
  3532. &lt;p&gt;What is the texture of dread?&lt;br&gt;
  3533.           Heart meat, raw,&amp;nbsp;freezing.&lt;/p&gt;
  3535. &lt;p&gt;What is the locus of dread?&lt;br&gt;
  3536.           The tangled human&amp;nbsp;brain.&lt;/p&gt;
  3538. &lt;p&gt;What is the focus of dread?&lt;br&gt;
  3539.           Humdrum human&amp;nbsp;pain.&lt;/p&gt;
  3541. &lt;p&gt;What is the tactic of dread?&lt;br&gt;
  3542.           Dread permeates&amp;nbsp;time.&lt;/p&gt;
  3544. &lt;p&gt;Child, have you tasted dread?&lt;br&gt;
  3545.           On my tongue I have tasted the&amp;nbsp;chyme.&lt;/p&gt;
  3547. &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3548.            <summary type="html">
  3549.                &lt;p&gt;What is the tactic of dread?&lt;br&gt;
  3550.           Dread permeates&amp;nbsp;time.&lt;/p&gt;
  3552. &lt;p&gt;Child, have you tasted dread?&lt;br&gt;
  3553.           On my tongue I have tasted the&amp;nbsp;chyme.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3554.        </entry>
  3555.            <entry>
  3556.                                    <title type="html">Nest, Empty</title>
  3557.            <author><name>Wendy Videlock
  3558. </name></author>
  3559.            <link href="/author/wvidelock/nest_empty"/>
  3560.            <updated>2013-12-09T04:17:08Z</updated>
  3561.            <published>2013-12-09T04:17:08Z</published>
  3562.            <id></id>
  3563.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3564.                        term="meter"
  3565.                        label="Meter" />
  3566.                        <category   scheme=""
  3567.                        term="rhyme"
  3568.                        label="Rhyme" />
  3570.                        <content type="html">
  3571.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3573. &lt;h3&gt;Nest,&amp;nbsp;Empty&lt;/h3&gt;
  3575. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Wendy&amp;nbsp;Videlock
  3576. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3578. &lt;p&gt;Let us read the papers, my dear,&lt;br&gt;
  3579. and discuss the&amp;nbsp;news,&lt;/p&gt;
  3581. &lt;p&gt;let us be&amp;nbsp;subdued,&lt;/p&gt;
  3583. &lt;p&gt;and suddenly&amp;nbsp;lewd.&lt;/p&gt;
  3585. &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3586.            <summary type="html">
  3587.                &lt;p&gt;Let us read the papers, my dear,&lt;br&gt;
  3588. and discuss the&amp;nbsp;news,&lt;/p&gt;
  3590. &lt;p&gt;let us be&amp;nbsp;subdued,&lt;/p&gt;
  3592. &lt;p&gt;and suddenly&amp;nbsp;lewd.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3593.        </entry>
  3594.            <entry>
  3595.                                    <title type="html">Inflatable Doll Is Bedazzled by the Macy&#39;s Thanksgiving Day Parade</title>
  3596.            <author><name>Kim Bridgford
  3597. </name></author>
  3598.            <link href="/author/kbridgford/inflatable_doll_is_bedazzled"/>
  3599.            <updated>2013-12-01T04:48:39Z</updated>
  3600.            <published>2013-12-01T04:48:39Z</published>
  3601.            <id></id>
  3602.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3603.                        term="meter"
  3604.                        label="Meter" />
  3605.                        <category   scheme=""
  3606.                        term="rhyme"
  3607.                        label="Rhyme" />
  3609.                        <content type="html">
  3610.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3612. &lt;h3&gt;Inflatable Doll Is Bedazzled by the Macy&amp;#8217;s Thanksgiving Day&amp;nbsp;Parade&lt;/h3&gt;
  3614. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Kim&amp;nbsp;Bridgford
  3615. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3617. &lt;p&gt;There’s something here that stirs her in her soul—&lt;br&gt;
  3618. Like Glory Hallelujah, his caress&lt;br&gt;
  3619. The day that he got her from &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;UPS&lt;/span&gt;—&lt;br&gt;
  3620. Blues Clues, the Muppets, each&amp;nbsp;Incredible,&lt;/p&gt;
  3622. &lt;p&gt;Her hyperbolic family in a nutshell.&lt;br&gt;
  3623. She loves their prideful air.  In New York City,&lt;br&gt;
  3624. It’s not &lt;i&gt;her&lt;/i&gt; normal circumstance, with&amp;nbsp;pity.&lt;/p&gt;
  3626. &lt;p&gt;In this parade, they clear each&amp;nbsp;obstacle.&lt;/p&gt;
  3628. &lt;p&gt;And like the high school kings and queens in cars&lt;br&gt;
  3629. That frame them like the faintest movie stars,&lt;br&gt;
  3630. Her people wave and bobble like a&amp;nbsp;myth.&lt;/p&gt;
  3632. &lt;p&gt;Dare she begin to hope her offspring wreathe&lt;br&gt;
  3633. The towered sky as Smurf or Looney Tune?&lt;br&gt;
  3634. What rises up:  the human or&amp;nbsp;balloon?&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3635.            <summary type="html">
  3636.                &lt;p&gt;There’s something here that stirs her in her soul—&lt;br&gt;
  3637. Like Glory Hallelujah, his caress&lt;br&gt;
  3638. The day that he got her from &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;UPS&lt;/span&gt;—&lt;br&gt;
  3639. Blues Clues, the Muppets, each&amp;nbsp;Incredible,&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3640.        </entry>
  3641.            <entry>
  3642.                                    <title type="html">Portrait of the Korean Adoptee with Partial Alphabet</title>
  3643.            <author><name>Lee Herrick
  3644. </name></author>
  3645.            <link href="/author/lherrick/portrait_of_the_korean_adoptee"/>
  3646.            <updated>2013-11-26T16:14:22Z</updated>
  3647.            <published>2013-11-26T16:14:22Z</published>
  3648.            <id></id>
  3649.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3650.                        term="meter"
  3651.                        label="Meter" />
  3652.                        <category   scheme=""
  3653.                        term="rhyme"
  3654.                        label="Rhyme" />
  3656.                        <content type="html">
  3657.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3659. &lt;h3&gt;Portrait of the Korean Adoptee with Partial&amp;nbsp;Alphabet&lt;/h3&gt;
  3661. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Lee&amp;nbsp;Herrick
  3662. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3664. &lt;p&gt;Air&lt;/p&gt;
  3666. &lt;p&gt;A propeller swats through your chest when you think of her.  &lt;br&gt;
  3667. I landed in San Francisco, from Seoul, on October 12, 1971.&lt;br&gt;
  3668. There was not a&amp;nbsp;parade. &lt;/p&gt;
  3670. &lt;p&gt;Birth&amp;nbsp;Name&lt;/p&gt;
  3672. &lt;p&gt;Could have been a cop, could have been an employee,&lt;br&gt;
  3673. could have been my birth mother who named me: Lee Kwang&amp;nbsp;Soo.&lt;/p&gt;
  3675. &lt;p&gt;Cucumber&amp;nbsp;kimchi&lt;/p&gt;
  3677. &lt;p&gt;Please pass the cucumber kimchi.  Please, the lemon soju. &lt;br&gt;
  3678. Please, the blotted history.&lt;br&gt;
  3679. Meat will keep you happy.  You will think of me when you get&amp;nbsp;hungry.&lt;/p&gt;
  3681. &lt;p&gt;Demographics&lt;/p&gt;
  3683. &lt;p&gt;He fails math when stories are introduced, begins to care less&lt;br&gt;
  3684. about numbers and more about arcs, shadows, plots, and&amp;nbsp;lies.&lt;/p&gt;
  3686. &lt;p&gt;Daejeon&lt;/p&gt;
  3688. &lt;p&gt;Outside the Express Train Station, in May, there are blooms&lt;br&gt;
  3689. so light they could evaporate.  You should go there to find out for&amp;nbsp;yourself.&lt;/p&gt;
  3691. &lt;p&gt;Dae-Won&lt;/p&gt;
  3693. &lt;p&gt;He speaks &lt;i&gt;five&lt;/i&gt; languages.  We had beer and dried squid near KoRoot.  &lt;br&gt;
  3694. He is angel.  Some kind of work is just&amp;nbsp;holy.&lt;/p&gt;
  3696. &lt;p&gt;Etymology&lt;/p&gt;
  3698. &lt;p&gt;Eulogy.  Egg.  The world wide wasted&amp;nbsp;elegies.&lt;/p&gt;
  3700. &lt;p&gt;Father&lt;/p&gt;
  3702. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;GOA&lt;/span&gt;’L&lt;/p&gt;
  3704. &lt;p&gt;Good luck, good times, good boy, good&amp;nbsp;banchan.&lt;/p&gt;
  3706. &lt;p&gt;Holt&lt;/p&gt;
  3708. &lt;p&gt;Imjing River. In Daejeon, we almost got&amp;nbsp;lost.&lt;/p&gt;
  3710. &lt;p&gt;Jennifer Kwon Dobbs, Jane Jeong Trenka.  Some kind of art is this&amp;nbsp;pure.&lt;/p&gt;
  3712. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KBS&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  3714. &lt;p&gt;KoRoot&lt;/p&gt;
  3716. &lt;p&gt;Lee Kwang Soo is my birth name. I am 39. I will not go&amp;nbsp;on.&lt;/p&gt;
  3718. &lt;p&gt;May 6, 2008, I discovered I was born in or near&amp;nbsp;Daejeon.&lt;/p&gt;
  3720. &lt;p&gt;Nomenclature&lt;/p&gt;
  3722. &lt;p&gt;Nam Dae Mun is not on fire in my dream.  There is no smoke.&lt;br&gt;
  3723. 9143 is my Holt case number.  You should see my photo.  I was plump and&amp;nbsp;shocked.&lt;/p&gt;
  3725. &lt;p&gt;Shim Soon-Duk .  Sun Yung&amp;nbsp;Shin.&lt;/p&gt;
  3727. &lt;p&gt;T&lt;br&gt;
  3728. U&lt;br&gt;&amp;nbsp;V&lt;/p&gt;
  3730. &lt;p&gt;When one sense fails you, the other five will save your&amp;nbsp;life.&lt;/p&gt;
  3732. &lt;p&gt;X, ex, axes, axis.  We are not&amp;nbsp;evil.&lt;/p&gt;
  3734. &lt;p&gt;You&lt;/p&gt;
  3736. &lt;p&gt;You piece together what you can, when you can. &lt;br&gt;
  3737. In the meantime, breathe as if your chest is an&amp;nbsp;ocean.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3738.            <summary type="html">
  3739.                &lt;p&gt;X, ex, axes, axis.  We are not&amp;nbsp;evil.&lt;/p&gt;
  3741. &lt;p&gt;You&lt;/p&gt;
  3743. &lt;p&gt;You piece together what you can, when you can. &lt;br&gt;
  3744. In the meantime, breathe as if your chest is an&amp;nbsp;ocean.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3745.        </entry>
  3746.            <entry>
  3747.                                    <title type="html">For the Delivery Trucks of Garanhuns</title>
  3748.            <author><name>Kevin Cutrer
  3749. </name></author>
  3750.            <link href="/author/kcutrer/for_the_delivery_trucks_of"/>
  3751.            <updated>2013-11-22T06:50:39Z</updated>
  3752.            <published>2013-11-22T06:50:39Z</published>
  3753.            <id></id>
  3754.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3755.                        term="meter"
  3756.                        label="Meter" />
  3757.                        <category   scheme=""
  3758.                        term="rhyme"
  3759.                        label="Rhyme" />
  3761.                        <content type="html">
  3762.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3764. &lt;h3&gt;For the Delivery Trucks of&amp;nbsp;Garanhuns&lt;/h3&gt;
  3766. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Kevin&amp;nbsp;Cutrer
  3767. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3769. &lt;p&gt;      &lt;i&gt;Pernambuco,&amp;nbsp;Brazil&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  3771. &lt;p&gt;This is my little samba,&lt;br&gt;
  3772. humble and sincere,&lt;br&gt;
  3773. for landlocked stevedores&lt;br&gt;
  3774. unloading crates of&amp;nbsp;beer.&lt;/p&gt;
  3776. &lt;p&gt;For the shouted call and return,&lt;br&gt;
  3777. the order and harangue,&lt;br&gt;
  3778. the hiss and squeal of brakes,&lt;br&gt;
  3779. the tailgate’s scrape and&amp;nbsp;clang.&lt;/p&gt;
  3781. &lt;p&gt;For grumbling diesel engines,&lt;br&gt;
  3782. loud stabbing horns that greet&lt;br&gt;
  3783. new friends at every turn&lt;br&gt;
  3784. on every uphill&amp;nbsp;street.&lt;/p&gt;
  3786. &lt;p&gt;This is my little samba&lt;br&gt;
  3787. to say below the noise,&lt;br&gt;
  3788. watching the farthest knoll,&lt;br&gt;
  3789. the trucks now small as&amp;nbsp;toys.
  3790. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3791.            <summary type="html">
  3792.                &lt;p&gt;This is my little samba,&lt;br&gt;
  3793. humble and sincere,&lt;br&gt;
  3794. for landlocked stevedores&lt;br&gt;
  3795. unloading crates of&amp;nbsp;beer.&lt;/p&gt;
  3797. &lt;p&gt;For the shouted call and return,&lt;br&gt;
  3798. the order and harangue,&lt;br&gt;
  3799. the hiss and squeal of brakes,&lt;br&gt;
  3800. the tailgate’s scrape and&amp;nbsp;clang.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3801.        </entry>
  3802.            <entry>
  3803.                                    <title type="html">For Morton Feldman</title>
  3804.            <author><name>Reb Hastrev
  3805. </name></author>
  3806.            <link href="/author/rhastrev/for_morton_feldman"/>
  3807.            <updated>2013-11-20T09:02:35Z</updated>
  3808.            <published>2013-11-20T09:02:35Z</published>
  3809.            <id></id>
  3810.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3811.                        term="freeverse"
  3812.                        label="Freeverse" />
  3814.                        <content type="html">
  3815.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3817. &lt;h3&gt;For Morton&amp;nbsp;Feldman&lt;/h3&gt;
  3819. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Reb&amp;nbsp;Hastrev
  3820. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3822. &lt;p&gt;Sound the sounds&lt;br&gt;
  3823. Around the&amp;nbsp;silence:&lt;/p&gt;
  3825. &lt;p&gt;Sounding sounds&lt;br&gt;
  3826. Surrounding&amp;nbsp;silence,&lt;/p&gt;
  3828. &lt;p&gt;Sounds of sounds&lt;br&gt;
  3829. Drowned in&amp;nbsp;silence.&lt;/p&gt;
  3831. &lt;p&gt;Sound the sounds&lt;br&gt;
  3832. Bound in&amp;nbsp;silence.&lt;/p&gt;
  3834. &lt;p&gt;Sound the sounds&lt;br&gt;
  3835. Bounding&amp;nbsp;silence.&lt;/p&gt;
  3837. &lt;p&gt;Sound the&amp;nbsp;sounds.&lt;/p&gt;
  3839. &lt;p&gt;Sound the&amp;nbsp;sounds.&lt;/p&gt;
  3841. &lt;p&gt;Sound the silence&lt;br&gt;
  3842. Silence&amp;nbsp;sounds.&lt;/p&gt;
  3844. &lt;p&gt;Sound the&amp;nbsp;silence.&lt;/p&gt;
  3846. &lt;p&gt;Sound the&amp;nbsp;sounds.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3847.            <summary type="html">
  3848.                &lt;p&gt;Sound the sounds&lt;br&gt;
  3849. Around the&amp;nbsp;silence:&lt;/p&gt;
  3851. &lt;p&gt;Sounding sounds&lt;br&gt;
  3852. Surrounding&amp;nbsp;silence,
  3853. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3854.        </entry>
  3855.            <entry>
  3856.                                    <title type="html">Fire</title>
  3857.            <author><name>Lee Herrick
  3858. </name></author>
  3859.            <link href="/author/lherrick/fire"/>
  3860.            <updated>2013-11-18T19:05:58Z</updated>
  3861.            <published>2013-11-18T19:05:58Z</published>
  3862.            <id></id>
  3863.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3864.                        term="meter"
  3865.                        label="Meter" />
  3866.                        <category   scheme=""
  3867.                        term="rhyme"
  3868.                        label="Rhyme" />
  3870.                        <content type="html">
  3871.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3873. &lt;h3&gt;Fire&lt;/h3&gt;
  3875. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Lee&amp;nbsp;Herrick
  3876. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3878. &lt;p&gt;This is death and air&lt;br&gt;
  3879. the absence of sufficient&amp;nbsp;prayer&lt;/p&gt;
  3881. &lt;p&gt;      the self immolation of Thich Quang Duc in Ho Chi&amp;nbsp;Minh &lt;/p&gt;
  3883. &lt;p&gt;City, doused in gasoline, &lt;br&gt;
  3884. then the match, the wind, the air, the smoke, the&amp;nbsp;fire.&lt;/p&gt;
  3886. &lt;p&gt;          This is the soul’s whistling &lt;br&gt;
  3887. over the Vietnamese rooftops, over the fathers and&amp;nbsp;daughters&lt;/p&gt;
  3889. &lt;p&gt;over the singed and the poor.&lt;br&gt;
  3890. This is about campfires, suburban fires made by&amp;nbsp;husbands&lt;/p&gt;
  3892. &lt;p&gt;      nearly dead or the soldier &lt;br&gt;
  3893.       poet with the fire inside, &lt;br&gt;
  3894.       the pyromaniac down &lt;br&gt;
  3895.       the block, and the Bolivian &lt;br&gt;
  3896.       student on the cusp of his &lt;br&gt;
  3897.       own little&amp;nbsp;revolution. &lt;/p&gt;
  3899. &lt;p&gt;Some fires take a long time to blossom. &lt;br&gt;
  3900. Chances are high you will not even notice the&amp;nbsp;smoke.  &lt;/p&gt;
  3902. &lt;p&gt;      Once, I broke down on the&amp;nbsp;couch.&lt;/p&gt;
  3904. &lt;p&gt;I thought I was going to die.  &lt;br&gt;
  3905. This is different than the time I broke&amp;nbsp;down &lt;/p&gt;
  3907. &lt;p&gt;          in front of my father at nineteen because &lt;br&gt;
  3908. I did not want to die.  My father saved me that&amp;nbsp;night.&lt;/p&gt;
  3910. &lt;p&gt;What if the dead knew about each of our dreams?&lt;br&gt;
  3911. What if they forgave you?&lt;br&gt;
  3912. What if we knew the secrets of all the city’s acoustics?  &lt;br&gt;
  3913. Would it matter if I told you I know nothing, &lt;br&gt;
  3914. that there is no thing I want to tell you more than &lt;br&gt;
  3915. how much I have fallen in love with this world,&lt;br&gt;
  3916. all of its fires, its failures, its faith,&lt;br&gt;
  3917. how I love all of your past fires, now&amp;nbsp;ash?&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3918.            <summary type="html">
  3919.                &lt;p&gt;          This is the soul’s whistling &lt;br&gt;
  3920. over the Vietnamese rooftops, over the fathers and&amp;nbsp;daughters&lt;/p&gt;
  3922. &lt;p&gt;over the singed and the poor.&lt;br&gt;
  3923. This is about campfires, suburban fires made by&amp;nbsp;husbands&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3924.        </entry>
  3925.            <entry>
  3926.                                    <title type="html">Gallery opening</title>
  3927.            <author><name>Esther Greenleaf Murer
  3928. </name></author>
  3929.            <link href="/author/egmurer/gallery_opening"/>
  3930.            <updated>2013-11-16T03:21:44Z</updated>
  3931.            <published>2013-11-16T03:21:44Z</published>
  3932.            <id></id>
  3933.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3934.                        term="meter"
  3935.                        label="Meter" />
  3936.                        <category   scheme=""
  3937.                        term="rhyme"
  3938.                        label="Rhyme" />
  3940.                        <content type="html">
  3941.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  3943. &lt;h3&gt;Gallery&amp;nbsp;opening&lt;/h3&gt;
  3945. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Esther Greenleaf&amp;nbsp;Murer
  3946. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  3948. &lt;p&gt;Lo! An op-art Venus&lt;br&gt;
  3949. with rhinoceros teeth&lt;br&gt;
  3950. sits on the railroad tracks &lt;br&gt;
  3951. in plaid lederhosen&lt;br&gt;
  3952. selling&amp;nbsp;indulgences.&lt;/p&gt;
  3954. &lt;p&gt;An indulgent Venus&lt;br&gt;
  3955. railroads rhinoceroses&lt;br&gt;
  3956. into plaid teeth &lt;br&gt;
  3957. bared by sellers&lt;br&gt;
  3958. of op-art&amp;nbsp;lederhosen.&lt;/p&gt;
  3960. &lt;p&gt;A plaid Venus&lt;br&gt;
  3961. with railroad teeth&lt;br&gt;
  3962. makes rhinoceros tracks&lt;br&gt;
  3963. amid op-art indulgences&lt;br&gt;
  3964. in a low&amp;nbsp;cellar.&lt;/p&gt;
  3966. &lt;p&gt;A teething Venus&lt;br&gt;
  3967. indulges railroad sellers&lt;br&gt;
  3968. in bulging lederhosen&lt;br&gt;
  3969. along the plaid tracks&lt;br&gt;
  3970. of a lowing&amp;nbsp;rhinoceros.&lt;/p&gt;
  3972. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;About the&amp;nbsp;artist…&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  3974. &lt;p&gt;Ray Rhodes played &lt;br&gt;
  3975. a part as a dull gent&lt;br&gt;
  3976. with wino cirrhosis&lt;br&gt;
  3977. who laid a dozen hos &lt;br&gt;
  3978. with venous&amp;nbsp;teats.
  3979. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  3980.            <summary type="html">
  3981.                &lt;p&gt;Lo! An op-art Venus&lt;br&gt;
  3982. with rhinoceros teeth&lt;br&gt;
  3983. sits on the railroad tracks &lt;br&gt;
  3984. in plaid lederhosen&lt;br&gt;
  3985. selling&amp;nbsp;indulgences.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  3986.        </entry>
  3987.            <entry>
  3988.                                    <title type="html">If I should answer with a patch of aspen,</title>
  3989.            <author><name>Wendy Videlock
  3990. </name></author>
  3991.            <link href="/author/wvidelock/if_i_should_answer_with_a_patch"/>
  3992.            <updated>2013-11-13T01:12:50Z</updated>
  3993.            <published>2013-11-13T01:12:50Z</published>
  3994.            <id></id>
  3995.                                    <category   scheme=""
  3996.                        term="freeverse"
  3997.                        label="Freeverse" />
  3999.                        <content type="html">
  4000.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4002. &lt;h3&gt;If I should answer with a patch of&amp;nbsp;aspen,&lt;/h3&gt;
  4004. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Wendy&amp;nbsp;Videlock
  4005. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4007. &lt;p&gt;it is not because I am an aspen.&lt;br&gt;
  4008. If I should speak of dream,&lt;br&gt;
  4009. or smoke, &lt;br&gt;
  4010. or eternal weather, &lt;br&gt;
  4011. it is not for lack of flesh &lt;br&gt;
  4012. and matter.  You who are stone,&lt;br&gt;
  4013. or cottage, or grove&lt;br&gt;
  4014. or given to the mother star&lt;br&gt;
  4015. needn’t name yourselves. &lt;br&gt;
  4016. We know who you&amp;nbsp;are. &lt;/p&gt;
  4018. &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4019.            <summary type="html">
  4020.                &lt;p&gt;it is not because I am an aspen.&lt;br&gt;
  4021. If I should speak of dream,&lt;br&gt;
  4022. or smoke, &lt;br&gt;
  4023. or eternal weather, &lt;br&gt;
  4024. it is not for lack of flesh &lt;br&gt;
  4025. and&amp;nbsp;matter.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4026.        </entry>
  4027.            <entry>
  4028.                                    <title type="html">Beach Dreams</title>
  4029.            <author><name>Lee Herrick
  4030. </name></author>
  4031.            <link href="/author/lherrick/beach_dreams"/>
  4032.            <updated>2013-11-11T18:44:12Z</updated>
  4033.            <published>2013-11-11T18:44:12Z</published>
  4034.            <id></id>
  4035.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4036.                        term="meter"
  4037.                        label="Meter" />
  4038.                        <category   scheme=""
  4039.                        term="rhyme"
  4040.                        label="Rhyme" />
  4042.                        <content type="html">
  4043.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4045. &lt;h3&gt;Beach&amp;nbsp;Dreams&lt;/h3&gt;
  4047. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Lee&amp;nbsp;Herrick
  4048. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4050. &lt;p class=&#34;epigraph&#34;&gt;&lt;i&gt;I pick up all the pieces and make an island/ Might even raise a little sand.&lt;/i&gt;
  4051.                  - Jimi Hendrix, “Voodoo&amp;nbsp;Child”&lt;/p&gt;
  4053. &lt;p&gt;In the grove, there were three birds like a choir.&lt;br&gt;
  4054. In the alley, cat after cat like drunks from the bar.&lt;br&gt;
  4055. In the dream, the guitarist’s solo face in a mural.&lt;br&gt;
  4056. Gather all the pieces into your favorite bag.&lt;br&gt;
  4057. Gather the neglected granules and seek out birds.&lt;br&gt;
  4058. In the birds, a choir of murals and sand.&lt;br&gt;
  4059. In the bar, the guitarist dreams about the valley.&lt;br&gt;
  4060. In the sand, carve the name of the woman you&amp;nbsp;love.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4061.            <summary type="html">
  4062.                &lt;p&gt;In the grove, there were three birds like a choir.&lt;br&gt;
  4063. In the alley, cat after cat like drunks from the bar.&lt;br&gt;
  4064. In the dream, the guitarist’s solo face in a mural.&lt;br&gt;
  4065. Gather all the pieces into your favorite&amp;nbsp;bag.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4066.        </entry>
  4067.            <entry>
  4068.                                    <title type="html">What She Saw</title>
  4069.            <author><name>Quincy Lehr
  4070. </name></author>
  4071.            <link href="/author/qlehr/what_she_saw"/>
  4072.            <updated>2013-11-11T05:32:27Z</updated>
  4073.            <published>2013-11-11T05:32:27Z</published>
  4074.            <id></id>
  4075.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4076.                        term="meter"
  4077.                        label="Meter" />
  4078.                        <category   scheme=""
  4079.                        term="rhyme"
  4080.                        label="Rhyme" />
  4082.                        <content type="html">
  4083.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4085. &lt;h3&gt;What She&amp;nbsp;Saw&lt;/h3&gt;
  4087. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Quincy&amp;nbsp;Lehr
  4088. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4090. &lt;p&gt;Better watch out or motes of fairy dust&lt;br&gt;
  4091.       will inundate your eyes&lt;br&gt;
  4092. with sunlight&amp;#8217;s surface glittering.&lt;br&gt;
  4093.       It isn&amp;#8217;t so much lies&lt;br&gt;
  4094. as cowardice—a flinch at what&amp;#8217;s beneath&lt;br&gt;
  4095.       in the airless dark.&lt;br&gt;
  4096. Focus on the minnows&amp;#8217; flits—&lt;br&gt;
  4097.       try to ignore the&amp;nbsp;shark,&lt;/p&gt;
  4099. &lt;p&gt;and though the fin has broken into air,&lt;br&gt;
  4100.       you focus on the waves&lt;br&gt;
  4101. and go into some mantric trip,&lt;br&gt;
  4102.       some New-Age &amp;#8220;Jesus Saves&amp;#8221;&lt;br&gt;
  4103. you murmur with a tranquil, beaming grin&lt;br&gt;
  4104.       as if your core belief&lt;br&gt;
  4105. in butterflies and skinny dips&lt;br&gt;
  4106.       will keep away its&amp;nbsp;teeth&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4107.            <summary type="html">
  4108.                &lt;p&gt;Better watch out or motes of fairy dust&lt;br&gt;
  4109.       will inundate your eyes&lt;br&gt;
  4110. with sunlight&amp;#8217;s surface glittering.&lt;br&gt;
  4111.       It isn&amp;#8217;t so much&amp;nbsp;lies&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4112.        </entry>
  4113.            <entry>
  4114.                                    <title type="html">Boy with Red Hair</title>
  4115.            <author><name>David Lehman
  4116. </name></author>
  4117.            <link href="/author/dlehman/boy_with_red_hair"/>
  4118.            <updated>2013-11-08T08:33:51Z</updated>
  4119.            <published>2013-11-08T08:33:51Z</published>
  4120.            <id></id>
  4121.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4122.                        term="meter"
  4123.                        label="Meter" />
  4124.                        <category   scheme=""
  4125.                        term="rhyme"
  4126.                        label="Rhyme" />
  4128.                        <content type="html">
  4129.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4131. &lt;h3&gt;Boy with Red&amp;nbsp;Hair&lt;/h3&gt;
  4133. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;David&amp;nbsp;Lehman
  4134. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4136. &lt;p&gt;1.&lt;/p&gt;
  4138. &lt;p&gt;The boy was shy. He was quietly bored in the dark house but too nice to say&amp;nbsp;so.&lt;/p&gt;
  4140. &lt;p&gt;One afternoon at three thirty the mother didn’t show up and the boy had to take a taxi &lt;br&gt;
  4141.       from school to house. He was furious with her. “He was so angry he reminded me &lt;br&gt;
  4142.       of you,” the mother told her&amp;nbsp;ex-husband.&lt;/p&gt;
  4144. &lt;p&gt;I guess I inherit my absent-mindedness from her, said the boy.&lt;br&gt;
  4145. He was old-fashioned, with freckles and red hair,&lt;br&gt;
  4146. and when they drove through a toll booth&lt;br&gt;
  4147. the man at the toll booth would say, “Hi,&amp;nbsp;Red.”&lt;/p&gt;
  4149. &lt;p&gt;The boy and his grandfather had several things in common.&lt;br&gt;
  4150. Both were soft-spoken, sincere hypochondriacs.&lt;br&gt;
  4151. Their favorite fruits were strawberries in summer&lt;br&gt;
  4152. and pears in&amp;nbsp;fall.&lt;/p&gt;
  4154. &lt;p&gt;A parrot alighted on the boy’s shoulder.&lt;br&gt;
  4155. See, the cage’s door was wide open the whole time.&lt;br&gt;
  4156. Later, the boy made eye contact&lt;br&gt;
  4157. with a butterfly settling on his&amp;nbsp;shoe.&lt;/p&gt;
  4159. &lt;p&gt;The boy was slow in the bathroom, thinking&lt;br&gt;
  4160. while brushing his teeth.&lt;br&gt;
  4161. What was he thinking about?&lt;br&gt;
  4162. &amp;#8220;Did you know Jack Nicholson played a killer&lt;br&gt;
  4163. in &lt;i&gt;Cry Baby Killer&lt;/i&gt;, his first&amp;nbsp;movie?&amp;#8221;&lt;/p&gt;
  4165. &lt;p&gt;Hours later he couldn’t reconstruct the thought processes that had led to this&amp;nbsp;moment.&lt;/p&gt;
  4167. &lt;p&gt;2.&lt;/p&gt;
  4169. &lt;p&gt;The boy put his yellow-and-brown-checked pajama bottoms&lt;br&gt;
  4170. around his head and became Invulnerable Man.&lt;br&gt;
  4171. Swinging himself around, &lt;br&gt;
  4172. he knocked down a vase, which crashed.&lt;br&gt;
  4173. And then he got quiet, very&amp;nbsp;quiet.&lt;/p&gt;
  4175. &lt;p&gt;The boy had a respect for silence. &lt;br&gt;
  4176. He didn&amp;#8217;t say one word more than was strictly necessary.&lt;br&gt;
  4177. On the phone he would say &lt;i&gt;uh-huh&lt;/i&gt; and &lt;i&gt;yes&lt;/i&gt; and little&amp;nbsp;else. &lt;/p&gt;
  4179. &lt;p&gt;He liked long car trips. His father asked,&lt;br&gt;
  4180. What would you paint&amp;#8212;the clouds&lt;br&gt;
  4181. or the trees&amp;#8212;if you were a painter?&lt;br&gt;
  4182. The boy thought for what seemed like a long time.&lt;br&gt;
  4183. He thought it would be difficult to paint the clouds.&lt;br&gt;
  4184. Ladders weren’t long&amp;nbsp;enough.&lt;/p&gt;
  4186. &lt;p&gt;3.&lt;/p&gt;
  4188. &lt;p&gt;That night he slept in the Chateau&amp;nbsp;d’If.&lt;/p&gt;
  4190. &lt;p&gt;“Do not underestimate me,” said the German commandant.&lt;br&gt;
  4191. “From this prison there is no escape.”&lt;br&gt;
  4192. The boy had heard these words before. He knew what came next. &lt;br&gt;
  4193. The commandant needed to make an example of somebody.&lt;br&gt;
  4194. He would pick a prisoner at random and have him hanged.&lt;br&gt;
  4195. This would frighten the others,&lt;br&gt;
  4196. and the hunger strike would be over.&lt;br&gt;
  4197. In prison there was plenty of time to imagine the&amp;nbsp;scene.&lt;/p&gt;
  4199. &lt;p&gt;In prison there was time to waste, wondering why he was there,&lt;br&gt;
  4200. making appeals, pleading for a hearing,&lt;br&gt;
  4201. when he should have been playing on the porch &lt;br&gt;
  4202. listening to the birds singing&lt;br&gt;
  4203. or digging a tunnel from his bed &lt;br&gt;
  4204. to the mad priest’s cell, substituting&lt;br&gt;
  4205. his body for the dead man’s in the shroud&lt;br&gt;
  4206. after memorizing the map of his secret treasure,&lt;br&gt;
  4207. ready to return to life, to swim all the way &lt;br&gt;
  4208. to Paris if necessary, a nobleman in a cape, &lt;br&gt;
  4209. ready to exact his&amp;nbsp;revenge.
  4210. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4211.            <summary type="html">
  4212.                &lt;p&gt;The boy was shy. He was quietly bored in the dark house but too nice to say&amp;nbsp;so.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4213.        </entry>
  4214.            <entry>
  4215.                                    <title type="html">Gardening Secrets of the Dead</title>
  4216.            <author><name>Lee Herrick
  4217. </name></author>
  4218.            <link href="/author/lherrick/gardening_secrets_of_the_dead"/>
  4219.            <updated>2013-11-05T15:44:11Z</updated>
  4220.            <published>2013-11-05T15:44:11Z</published>
  4221.            <id></id>
  4222.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4223.                        term="meter"
  4224.                        label="Meter" />
  4225.                        <category   scheme=""
  4226.                        term="rhyme"
  4227.                        label="Rhyme" />
  4229.                        <content type="html">
  4230.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4232. &lt;h3&gt;Gardening Secrets of the&amp;nbsp;Dead&lt;/h3&gt;
  4234. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Lee&amp;nbsp;Herrick
  4235. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4237. &lt;p&gt;When the light pivots, hum&amp;#8212;not so loud&lt;br&gt;
  4238. the basil will know, but enough &lt;br&gt;
  4239. to water it with your breath.  &lt;br&gt;
  4240. Gardening has nothing to do with names&lt;br&gt;
  4241. like &lt;i&gt;lily&lt;/i&gt; or &lt;i&gt;daisy&lt;/i&gt;.  It is about verbs like &lt;i&gt;uproot&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;br&gt;
  4242. &lt;i&gt;traverse&lt;/i&gt;, &lt;i&gt;hush&lt;/i&gt;.  We can say it has aspects of memory &lt;br&gt;
  4243. and prayer, but mostly it is about refraction and absence, &lt;br&gt;
  4244. the dead long gone when the plant goes in.  A part of the body. &lt;br&gt;
  4245. Water and movement, attention and&amp;nbsp;dirt.&lt;/p&gt;
  4247. &lt;p&gt;           Once, I swam off the coast of Belize and pulled &lt;br&gt;
  4248. seven local kids along in the shallow Caribbean, &lt;br&gt;
  4249. their brown bodies in the blue water behind me, &lt;br&gt;
  4250. the first one holding my left hand like a root, &lt;br&gt;
  4251. the last one dangling his arm under the water &lt;br&gt;
  4252. like a lavender twig or a flag in light wind.&lt;br&gt;
  4253. A dead woman told me:  Gardening,&lt;br&gt;
  4254. simply, is laughing and swimming&lt;br&gt;
  4255. a chorus of little brown miracles &lt;br&gt;
  4256. in water so clear you can see yourself &lt;br&gt;
  4257. and your own brown hands becoming&amp;nbsp;clean.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4258.            <summary type="html">
  4259.                &lt;p&gt;A dead woman told me:  Gardening,&lt;br&gt;
  4260. simply, is laughing and swimming&lt;br&gt;
  4261. a chorus of little brown miracles &lt;br&gt;
  4262. in water so clear you can see yourself &lt;br&gt;
  4263. and your own brown hands becoming&amp;nbsp;clean.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4264.        </entry>
  4265.            <entry>
  4266.                                    <title type="html">Self-Interview</title>
  4267.            <author><name>Lee Herrick
  4268. </name></author>
  4269.            <link href="/author/lherrick/self_interview"/>
  4270.            <updated>2013-11-05T15:31:38Z</updated>
  4271.            <published>2013-11-05T15:31:38Z</published>
  4272.            <id></id>
  4273.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4274.                        term="namerica"
  4275.                        label="Namerica" />
  4277.                        <content type="html">
  4278.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4280. &lt;h3&gt;Self-Interview&lt;/h3&gt;
  4282. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Lee&amp;nbsp;Herrick
  4283. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4285. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What do you remember from your&amp;nbsp;travels?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  4287. &lt;p&gt;The sound of a pig getting killed in southern Mexico. The presence and praise of Subcommandante Marcos and his wife, Ramona, in southern Mexico, Chiapas. The flowers in Oaxaca City. The view from atop the Temple of Sun, the Great Wall of China, and the ruins at Angkor Wat in Cambodia. I remember the band of amputees in Phnom Penh. The plaza pigeons in La Paz, Bolivia and how brilliantly clean the air in Cusco, Peru. The descent into Macchu Pichhu after four days of hiking in the gorgeous and unforgiving Andes Mountains. Insadong, Seoul, the food, the Korean language skirting around me like perfumed ghosts. Tiananmen Square, where the children now fly kites. The clear water off the Honduran coast. The pho in Ho Chi Minh City, playing in a pick- up soccer game in Laos. The café in Antigua, the journals I filled, the food, the music, the terrain. I think now about our own historical terrains, how simultaneously certain and uncertain they are. How full of flowers and revolution they are. How I want my world to be as whole as&amp;nbsp;possible.&lt;/p&gt;
  4289. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;You were on a panel at &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AWP&lt;/span&gt; 2013 on Race in the Classroom, and you are on another panel at &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;AWP&lt;/span&gt; 2014 in Seattle on Social Action and Writing. What books would you recommend to develop a poet’s political, social justice, or race&amp;nbsp;consciousness?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  4291. &lt;p&gt;To offer an incomplete list: Mumia Abu-Jamal’s &lt;i&gt;Live from Death Row&lt;/i&gt;, Octavio Paz’s &lt;i&gt;The Other Voice&lt;/i&gt;, Paulo Freire’s &lt;i&gt;Education for Critical Consciousness&lt;/i&gt;, Gloria Anzaldua’s &lt;i&gt;How to Tame a Wild Tongue&lt;/i&gt;, Frank Wu’s &lt;i&gt;Yellow&lt;/i&gt;, Elaine Elinson and Stan Yogi’s &lt;i&gt;Wherever There’s a Fight&lt;/i&gt;, Mao Zedong’s &lt;i&gt;Poems&lt;/i&gt;, Sherman Alexie’s &lt;i&gt;First Indian on the Moon&lt;/i&gt;, Patricia Smith’s &lt;i&gt;Blood Dazzler&lt;/i&gt;, Roque Dalton’s &lt;i&gt;The Small Hours of the Night&lt;/i&gt;, Lawson Inada’s &lt;i&gt;Drawing the Line&lt;/i&gt;, Juan Felipe Herrera’s &lt;i&gt;Notebooks of a Chile Verde Smuggler&lt;/i&gt;, Czeslaw Miloscz’s &lt;i&gt;The Year of the Hunter&lt;/i&gt;, Jane Jeong Trenka’s &lt;i&gt;Fugitive Visions&lt;/i&gt;, Alice Walker’s &lt;i&gt;Once&lt;/i&gt;, Adrienne Rich’s &lt;i&gt;What Is Found There: Notebooks on Poetry and Politics&lt;/i&gt;, and Brian Turner’s &lt;i&gt;Here, Bullet&lt;/i&gt;. Start with these and remember who you&amp;nbsp;are.&lt;/p&gt;
  4293. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Why Dalton? Why Freire? Why&amp;nbsp;Mao?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  4295. &lt;p&gt;If you travel in their countries, you can begin to understand the historical, social, and government forces that shape any country’s language, including its poetry. In these specific countries, poets are revered and often speak for the people, and I have felt deeply moved and influenced by reading the poetry of poets like Dalton (and other Central American poets like Claribel Alegria and Ruben Dario) and the ideas of Freire, especially his ideas on culture, contribution, and the common person in light of what he calls the “elite.” Pair these ideas with the poetry of a head of state such as Mao Zedong, and you can discover where your own language, your own poetry, your sense of where politics, power, language, and freedom exist and&amp;nbsp;converge.&lt;/p&gt;
  4297. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Ok, so who did the beautiful cover art for your second&amp;nbsp;book?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  4299. &lt;p&gt;That beautiful mind is Joo Young Choi. Please savor her website, She was born in South Korea and adopted, and received her &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt; in Boston. Her work is brave and sometimes reminds me of my dreams. It was a piece of hers titled, “The Weight of Forgiveness,” and I was grateful she agreed to the honorarium and allowed her work to grace my cover. We’ve never met, but I have a lot of love for her and her&amp;nbsp;work.&lt;/p&gt;
  4301. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;In 2007, your first book was published&amp;#8212;-alongside two other remarkable first books by adopted Korean Americans, Sun Yung Shin and Jennifer Kwon Dobbs. Please tell us about the close-knit community of Korean adoptee&amp;nbsp;poets.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  4303. &lt;p&gt;I could write for days on this, but I’ll say this&amp;#8212;-we became fast friends, and I deeply cherish their work, their vision, and their poems. Sun Yung now has a stunning second book, Rough, and Savage. In the time since our first books came out, other Korean adoptee poets have written brilliantly, such as Nicky Schildkraut, Leah Silvieus, Kelsay Myers, Kira Donnell, and Katie Leo, Rebecca Chung, to name just a few. I read with Nicky at her book launch in &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;LA&lt;/span&gt;. Love her work. I was reading in St. Paul once and heard Rebecca Chung, whose work and voice I really admire. I served on the &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt; thesis committee for Leah Silvieus, whose work I love. I can’t wait for the day a smart publisher signs her to a book&amp;nbsp;contract.&lt;/p&gt;
  4305. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;In what &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt; program was she&amp;nbsp;enrolled?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  4307. &lt;p&gt;The University of Miami. The one and only M. Evelina Galang directs it. I am not on their faculty but Leah requested that I serve on it, and it was approved. So I read her work with other committee members John Murillo and Maureen&amp;nbsp;Seaton.&lt;/p&gt;
  4309. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;You teach in an &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt; program,&amp;nbsp;right?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  4311. &lt;p&gt;Yes. I teach in the low-residency &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt; program at Sierra Nevada College, founded by my friend and one of the finest human beings (and poets) I know, Brian Turner. It’s on Lake Tahoe’s gorgeous North Shore. I am tenured at Fresno City College, my full-time job, where I have loved teaching for almost twenty years. Fresno is where I met&amp;nbsp;Brian.&lt;/p&gt;
  4313. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;You’ve written about music before. What live shows do you remember most? How does music enter your&amp;nbsp;poems?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  4315. &lt;p&gt;The first concert I saw was the Beastie Boys in 1987. Punk band kids from Brooklyn rapping? Loved it. I also saw many early rap shows&amp;#8212;-Public Enemy, Erik B. Rakhim, Run &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;DMC&lt;/span&gt;. I liked the rage and the energy, especially of Public Enemy. In the end, some of my favorite live bands are the Rolling Stones and Fugazi. I also really loved Pavement. And the festivals&amp;#8212;Lollapolooza, Bridge Benefit concerts, Tibetan Freedom Concerts, I went to all of those. I’m too old for those now. Three days walking in the heat? Not anymore, unless it’s through the Andes Mountains. But no one does it like Fugazi. Musicality, lyricism, and tone should be inherent in a poem, so I would like to think that music is already in my poems, if I’m fortunate, so that there is no entering. There’s only allegretto, andante, caesura, anaphora, and things like that. On a specific note, my new book has moments inspired by musicians ranging from Jimi Hendrix to the Korean classical group The Ahn Trio. I can’t imagine life, or writing poetry, without&amp;nbsp;music.&lt;/p&gt;
  4317. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;That’s a good note (no pun intended) on which to&amp;nbsp;end.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  4319. &lt;p&gt;It is. Go read some poetry,&amp;nbsp;Lee.&lt;/p&gt;
  4321. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;I&amp;nbsp;will.&lt;/b&gt;
  4322. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4323.            <summary type="html">
  4324.                &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;You’ve written about music before.… How does music enter your&amp;nbsp;poems?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  4326. &lt;p&gt;Musicality, lyricism, and tone should be inherent in a poem, so I would like to think that music is already in my poems, if I’m fortunate, so that there is no entering. There’s only allegretto, andante, caesura, anaphora, and things like that. On a specific note, my new book has moments inspired by musicians ranging from Jimi Hendrix to the Korean classical group The Ahn Trio. I can’t imagine life, or writing poetry, without&amp;nbsp;music.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4327.        </entry>
  4328.            <entry>
  4329.                                    <title type="html">Becoming My Father&#39;s Mother</title>
  4330.            <author><name>Barbara Louise Ungar
  4331. </name></author>
  4332.            <link href="/author/blungar/becoming_my_father_s_mother"/>
  4333.            <updated>2013-11-01T18:42:03Z</updated>
  4334.            <published>2013-11-01T18:42:03Z</published>
  4335.            <id></id>
  4336.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4337.                        term="meter"
  4338.                        label="Meter" />
  4339.                        <category   scheme=""
  4340.                        term="rhyme"
  4341.                        label="Rhyme" />
  4343.                        <content type="html">
  4344.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4346. &lt;h3&gt;Becoming My Father&amp;#8217;s&amp;nbsp;Mother&lt;/h3&gt;
  4348. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Barbara Louise&amp;nbsp;Ungar
  4349. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4351. &lt;p&gt;How the dead live on in us,&lt;br&gt;
  4352. how we learn they do not die—&lt;br&gt;
  4353. how their photographs possess their souls &lt;br&gt;
  4354. as if they still&amp;nbsp;breathed.&lt;/p&gt;
  4356. &lt;p&gt;How we see they do not die:&lt;br&gt;
  4357. closer now, telescoped within,&lt;br&gt;
  4358. as if they breathed still,&lt;br&gt;
  4359. they stream, all ages at once . .&amp;nbsp;.&lt;/p&gt;
  4361. &lt;p&gt;Even closer now, telescoped within,&lt;br&gt;
  4362. you love your daddy best&lt;br&gt;
  4363. (though he’s all ages at once)&lt;br&gt;
  4364. in sepia knickers, white shirt&amp;nbsp;shining.&lt;/p&gt;
  4366. &lt;p&gt;You love your daddy best&lt;br&gt;
  4367. around the age your son is now,&lt;br&gt;
  4368. in sepia knickers &lt;span class=&#34;amp&#34;&gt;&amp;amp;&lt;/span&gt; shining white shirt—&lt;br&gt;
  4369. his sweet smile, his eyes&amp;nbsp;luminous.&lt;/p&gt;
  4371. &lt;p&gt;Around the age your son is now—&lt;br&gt;
  4372. you could be his doting mama—&lt;br&gt;
  4373. (his wounded smile and wary eyes)&lt;br&gt;
  4374. the one he never&amp;nbsp;had.&lt;/p&gt;
  4376. &lt;p&gt;You can be the doting mama,&lt;br&gt;
  4377. (how his photographs possess you)&lt;br&gt;
  4378. the one you never had.&lt;br&gt;
  4379. How the dead live on in&amp;nbsp;us.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4380.            <summary type="html">
  4381.                &lt;p&gt;
  4382. &lt;/p&gt;
  4384. &lt;p&gt;How the dead live on in us,&lt;br&gt;
  4385. how we learn they do not die—&lt;br&gt;
  4386. how their photographs possess their souls &lt;br&gt;
  4387. as if they still&amp;nbsp;breathed.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4388.        </entry>
  4389.            <entry>
  4390.                                    <title type="html">The Axe</title>
  4391.            <author><name>Wendy Videlock
  4392. </name></author>
  4393.            <link href="/author/wvidelock/the_axe"/>
  4394.            <updated>2013-10-31T16:26:23Z</updated>
  4395.            <published>2013-10-31T16:26:23Z</published>
  4396.            <id></id>
  4397.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4398.                        term="meter"
  4399.                        label="Meter" />
  4400.                        <category   scheme=""
  4401.                        term="rhyme"
  4402.                        label="Rhyme" />
  4404.                        <content type="html">
  4405.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4407. &lt;h3&gt;The&amp;nbsp;Axe&lt;/h3&gt;
  4409. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Wendy&amp;nbsp;Videlock
  4410. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4412. &lt;p&gt;The long-standing juniper bush&lt;br&gt;
  4413. got the axe from us this year.&lt;br&gt;
  4414. We left the stump&lt;br&gt;
  4415.                 and made of it&lt;br&gt;
  4416. a lantern and a&amp;nbsp;cairn.&lt;/p&gt;
  4418. &lt;p&gt;The neighbors stop and stare,&lt;br&gt;
  4419. though not in horror&lt;br&gt;
  4420.                    or&amp;nbsp;despair.&lt;/p&gt;
  4422. &lt;p&gt;May all my murders&lt;br&gt;
  4423. be handled with such&amp;nbsp;care. &lt;/p&gt;
  4425. &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4426.            <summary type="html">
  4427.                &lt;p&gt;The long-standing juniper bush&lt;br&gt;
  4428. got the axe from us this&amp;nbsp;year.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4429.        </entry>
  4430.            <entry>
  4431.                                    <title type="html">The Eternal Return</title>
  4432.            <author><name>Amit Majmudar
  4433. </name></author>
  4434.            <link href="/author/amajmudar/the_eternal_return"/>
  4435.            <updated>2013-10-30T15:39:52Z</updated>
  4436.            <published>2013-10-30T15:39:52Z</published>
  4437.            <id></id>
  4438.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4439.                        term="meter"
  4440.                        label="Meter" />
  4441.                        <category   scheme=""
  4442.                        term="rhyme"
  4443.                        label="Rhyme" />
  4445.                        <content type="html">
  4446.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4448. &lt;h3&gt;The Eternal&amp;nbsp;Return&lt;/h3&gt;
  4450. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Amit&amp;nbsp;Majmudar
  4451. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4453. &lt;p&gt;
  4454. We’re side by side like always at the window&lt;br&gt;
  4455. Except that she is five years old and I&lt;br&gt;
  4456. Am demonstrating how we spread our thumbs&lt;br&gt;
  4457. And index fingers to enlarge the world.&lt;br&gt;
  4458. I show her: Tap the glass here once to make&lt;br&gt;
  4459. That dogwood blossom, twice to make it shed.&lt;br&gt;
  4460. Here at the window, sensing how the lost one&lt;br&gt;
  4461. Has been collapsed into the one to come,&lt;br&gt;
  4462. How my mother’s mother and my daughter due&lt;br&gt;
  4463. In June are both this one same girl, I ask her&lt;br&gt;
  4464. In English—though she never spoke it when&lt;br&gt;
  4465. Alive—I call this child Ma and ask her&lt;br&gt;
  4466. If families can stay together like this,&lt;br&gt;The soul returning here, a berth reserved&lt;br&gt;
  4467. Before the garlands blacken on the chest&lt;br&gt;
  4468. To have her smile courted, her wayward hands&lt;br&gt;
  4469. Tucked close. If love’s a kind of relay race&lt;br&gt;
  4470. Baton, forever passed among the same&lt;br&gt;
  4471. Few runners, each last breath a second&amp;nbsp;wind.&lt;/p&gt;
  4473. &lt;p&gt;We haven’t touched the window for a while,&lt;br&gt;
  4474. And so, like any screen, reality&lt;br&gt;
  4475. Switches on its slideshow: Hubble’s pictures&lt;br&gt;
  4476. Of Saturn, dumbbell nebulae, green smoke&lt;br&gt;
  4477. Off cosmic fuses, argon, boron, bismuth,&lt;br&gt;
  4478. Galaxies in the shape of hurricanes&lt;br&gt;
  4479. Without a coast; and then, high-res, bone-white,&lt;br&gt;
  4480. The surface of a moon, maybe our own,&lt;br&gt;
  4481. Pitted and stained with ancient soundless violence&lt;br&gt;
  4482. Where we are free to see a face or&amp;nbsp;not.
  4483. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4484.            <summary type="html">
  4485.                &lt;p&gt;
  4486. We’re side by side like always at the window&lt;br&gt;
  4487. Except that she is five years old and I&lt;br&gt;
  4488. Am demonstrating how we spread our thumbs&lt;br&gt;
  4489. And index fingers to enlarge the&amp;nbsp;world.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4490.        </entry>
  4491.            <entry>
  4492.                                    <title type="html">Orchard Lord</title>
  4493.            <author><name>Ann Drysdale
  4494. </name></author>
  4495.            <link href="/author/adrysdale/orchard_lord"/>
  4496.            <updated>2013-10-26T17:10:17Z</updated>
  4497.            <published>2013-10-26T17:10:17Z</published>
  4498.            <id></id>
  4499.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4500.                        term="meter"
  4501.                        label="Meter" />
  4502.                        <category   scheme=""
  4503.                        term="rhyme"
  4504.                        label="Rhyme" />
  4506.                        <content type="html">
  4507.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4509. &lt;h3&gt;Orchard&amp;nbsp;Lord&lt;/h3&gt;
  4511. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Ann&amp;nbsp;Drysdale
  4512. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4514. &lt;p&gt;The little brown god of the apple trees,&lt;br&gt;
  4515. afraid of the frosts and besotted with bees,&lt;br&gt;
  4516. is hiding round here. I’ve a feeling that he’s&lt;br&gt;
  4517. delighted with what he has&amp;nbsp;done.&lt;/p&gt;
  4519. &lt;p&gt;I can hear the sound of his rattling keys&lt;br&gt;
  4520. as he opens the door of the season and frees&lt;br&gt;
  4521. the fruits to do what they must and they please&lt;br&gt;
  4522. as the days of their reckoning&amp;nbsp;come.&lt;/p&gt;
  4524. &lt;p&gt;And all the small green devotees&lt;br&gt;
  4525. of the little brown god of the apple trees&lt;br&gt;
  4526. are peering out from the canopies,&lt;br&gt;
  4527. their faces touched by the&amp;nbsp;sun.&lt;/p&gt;
  4529. &lt;p&gt;The little brown god of the apple trees&lt;br&gt;
  4530. gives each of his dears an affectionate squeeze&lt;br&gt;
  4531. so their glorious possibilities&lt;br&gt;
  4532. will exceed their eventual&amp;nbsp;sum.&lt;/p&gt;
  4534. &lt;p&gt;In the long wet grass I fall to my knees&lt;br&gt;
  4535. and call on the god of the apple trees&lt;br&gt;
  4536. to hammer it home till the whole world sees&lt;br&gt;
  4537. that we are what we may&amp;nbsp;become.
  4538. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4539.            <summary type="html">
  4540.                &lt;p&gt;I can hear the sound of his rattling keys&lt;br&gt;
  4541. as he opens the door of the season and frees&lt;br&gt;
  4542. the fruits to do what they must and they please&lt;br&gt;
  4543. as the days of their reckoning&amp;nbsp;come.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4544.        </entry>
  4545.            <entry>
  4546.                                    <title type="html">No Shield of Achilles</title>
  4547.            <author><name>Rimas Uzgiris
  4548. </name></author>
  4549.            <link href="/author/ruzgiris/no_shield_of_achilles"/>
  4550.            <updated>2013-10-23T22:41:45Z</updated>
  4551.            <published>2013-10-23T22:41:45Z</published>
  4552.            <id></id>
  4553.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4554.                        term="meter"
  4555.                        label="Meter" />
  4556.                        <category   scheme=""
  4557.                        term="rhyme"
  4558.                        label="Rhyme" />
  4560.                        <content type="html">
  4561.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4563. &lt;h3&gt;No Shield of&amp;nbsp;Achilles&lt;/h3&gt;
  4565. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Rimas&amp;nbsp;Uzgiris
  4566. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4568. &lt;p&gt;The power is out and it comes—a darkening&lt;br&gt;
  4569. cloud-laced sky, cobwebs in acid rain—obscuring&lt;br&gt;
  4570. night&amp;#8217;s concave shield chased with constellations. &lt;br&gt;
  4571. The stories are gone. There is no consolation.&lt;br&gt;
  4572. Only this darkness now seeps into us—dusk&lt;br&gt;
  4573. of the half-blind, old, decrepit, the half-ghost husk&lt;br&gt;
  4574. of our civilization. Absence encroaches, &lt;br&gt;
  4575. a blank &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;TV&lt;/span&gt; slinks up the narrow corridor.&lt;br&gt;
  4576. In the window, far away, shadows of leaves &lt;br&gt;
  4577. merge, as we merge, into undifferentiated&amp;nbsp;horror.
  4578. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4579.            <summary type="html">
  4580.                &lt;p&gt;The power is out and it comes—a darkening&lt;br&gt;
  4581. cloud-laced sky, cobwebs in acid rain—obscuring&lt;br&gt;
  4582. night&amp;#8217;s concave shield chased with constellations. &lt;br&gt;
  4583. The stories are gone. There is no consolation.&lt;br&gt;
  4584. Only this darkness now seeps into us—dusk&lt;br&gt;
  4585. of the half-blind, old, decrepit, the half-ghost&amp;nbsp;husk&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4586.        </entry>
  4587.            <entry>
  4588.                                    <title type="html">Ode to a Porcupine</title>
  4589.            <author><name>Barbara Louise Ungar
  4590. </name></author>
  4591.            <link href="/author/blungar/ode_to_a_porcupine"/>
  4592.            <updated>2013-10-22T17:59:59Z</updated>
  4593.            <published>2013-10-22T17:59:59Z</published>
  4594.            <id></id>
  4595.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4596.                        term="freeverse"
  4597.                        label="Freeverse" />
  4599.                        <content type="html">
  4600.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4602. &lt;h3&gt;Ode to a&amp;nbsp;Porcupine&lt;/h3&gt;
  4604. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Barbara Louise&amp;nbsp;Ungar
  4605. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4607. &lt;p&gt;The stench &lt;br&gt;
  4608. knocks you back—&lt;br&gt;
  4609. stronger than skunk, a putrid &lt;br&gt;
  4610. blood-smell, like ten thousand Kotex &lt;br&gt;
  4611. left in a damp campground&amp;nbsp;bathroom.&lt;/p&gt;
  4613. &lt;p&gt;It’s lain a week in the rain&lt;br&gt;
  4614. among gaudy Adirondack Great &lt;br&gt;
  4615. Camps built by a remnant of European &lt;br&gt;
  4616. Jewry on ancestral Abenaki land&lt;br&gt;
  4617. in the twilight of American empire . .&amp;nbsp;.&lt;/p&gt;
  4619. &lt;p&gt;Endless war—&lt;br&gt;
  4620. Babylon to Wounded Knee,&lt;br&gt;
  4621. Hun invasions to Afghanistan:&lt;br&gt;
  4622. if one small mammal stinks this bad,&lt;br&gt;
  4623. what must a battlefield be? Li Bai&amp;nbsp;says, &lt;/p&gt;
  4625. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;      Crows and hawks peck for human guts &amp;#8230;&lt;br&gt;
  4626.       hang them on branches of withered trees &amp;#8230; &lt;br&gt;
  4627.       soldiers are smeared on bushes and grass;&lt;br&gt;
  4628.       the generals schemed in vain &amp;#8230; &lt;br&gt;
  4629.       Know that the weapons of war are utterly useless;&lt;br&gt;
  4630.       the wise man uses them only if he&amp;nbsp;must.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  4632. &lt;p&gt;Poor quill pig, &lt;br&gt;
  4633. we’ll bury you beneath the pines &lt;br&gt;
  4634. where you lived and died, a Taoist, &lt;br&gt;
  4635. not releasing a single needle &lt;br&gt;
  4636. unless&amp;nbsp;attacked.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4637.            <summary type="html">
  4638.                &lt;p&gt;
  4639. &lt;/p&gt;
  4641. &lt;p&gt;Poor quill pig, &lt;br&gt;
  4642. we’ll bury you beneath the pines &lt;br&gt;
  4643. where you lived and died, a Taoist, &lt;br&gt;
  4644. not releasing a single needle &lt;br&gt;
  4645. unless&amp;nbsp;attacked.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4646.        </entry>
  4647.            <entry>
  4648.                                    <title type="html">Precambrian</title>
  4649.            <author><name>Janelle Elyse Kihlstrom
  4650. </name></author>
  4651.            <link href="/author/jekihlstrom/precambrian"/>
  4652.            <updated>2013-10-19T07:15:08Z</updated>
  4653.            <published>2013-10-19T07:15:08Z</published>
  4654.            <id></id>
  4655.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4656.                        term="meter"
  4657.                        label="Meter" />
  4658.                        <category   scheme=""
  4659.                        term="rhyme"
  4660.                        label="Rhyme" />
  4662.                        <content type="html">
  4663.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4665. &lt;h3&gt;Precambrian&lt;/h3&gt;
  4667. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Janelle Elyse&amp;nbsp;Kihlstrom
  4668. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4670. &lt;p&gt;
  4671. I knew you in the Holocene,&lt;br&gt;
  4672. that eyeblink sliver;&lt;br&gt;
  4673. now I&amp;#8217;m growing back,&lt;br&gt;
  4674. losing my legs, my&amp;nbsp;lungs,&lt;/p&gt;
  4676. &lt;p&gt;
  4677. my spine to its last&lt;br&gt;
  4678. vertebra. &lt;br&gt;
  4679. The silence looms enormous&lt;br&gt;
  4680. for a million&amp;nbsp;years&lt;/p&gt;
  4682. &lt;p&gt;
  4683. or so, an ocean cave &lt;br&gt;
  4684. mistaken for a whale.  Then sleepy, &lt;br&gt;
  4685. deeper time sets in — &lt;br&gt;
  4686. forgetting light,&amp;nbsp;relearning &lt;/p&gt;
  4688. &lt;p&gt;
  4689. sound and measuring&amp;nbsp;distance.
  4690. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4691.            <summary type="html">
  4692.                &lt;p&gt;I knew you in the Holocene,&lt;br&gt;
  4693. that eyeblink sliver;&lt;br&gt;
  4694. now I&amp;#8217;m growing back,&lt;br&gt;
  4695. losing my legs, my&amp;nbsp;lungs,&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4696.        </entry>
  4697.            <entry>
  4698.                                    <title type="html">Rothko</title>
  4699.            <author><name>Michael Cantor
  4700. </name></author>
  4701.            <link href="/author/mcantor/rothko"/>
  4702.            <updated>2013-10-17T04:46:49Z</updated>
  4703.            <published>2013-10-17T04:46:49Z</published>
  4704.            <id></id>
  4705.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4706.                        term="meter"
  4707.                        label="Meter" />
  4708.                        <category   scheme=""
  4709.                        term="rhyme"
  4710.                        label="Rhyme" />
  4712.                        <content type="html">
  4713.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4715. &lt;h3&gt;Rothko&lt;/h3&gt;
  4717. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Michael&amp;nbsp;Cantor
  4718. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4720. &lt;p&gt;black black black black black black&lt;br&gt;
  4721. in tones of black and black on black&lt;br&gt;
  4722. the canvases are tagged &lt;i&gt;abstract &lt;br&gt;
  4723. expressionist&lt;/i&gt; on every plaque&lt;br&gt;
  4724. although the artist will attack&lt;br&gt;
  4725. &lt;i&gt;abstract&lt;/i&gt; and shun the word the lack&lt;br&gt;
  4726. of  it will not distract the claque&lt;br&gt;
  4727. in black black black black&amp;nbsp;black&lt;/p&gt;
  4729. &lt;p&gt;brown brown brown brown brown   &lt;br&gt;
  4730. a message floats above the ground &lt;br&gt;
  4731. serene reflective, and profound &lt;br&gt;
  4732. a man who wound his own life down&lt;br&gt;
  4733. red red red red red red red red&lt;br&gt;
  4734. dead dead dead dead dead&amp;nbsp;dead
  4735. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4736.            <summary type="html">
  4737.                &lt;p&gt;black black black black black black&lt;br&gt;
  4738. in tones of black and black on black&lt;br&gt;
  4739. the canvases are tagged &lt;i&gt;abstract &lt;br&gt;
  4740. expressionist&lt;/i&gt; on every plaque&lt;br&gt;
  4741. although the artist will attack&lt;br&gt;
  4742. abstract and shun the word the lack&lt;br&gt;
  4743. of  it will not distract the claque&lt;br&gt;
  4744. in black black black black&amp;nbsp;black&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4745.        </entry>
  4746.            <entry>
  4747.                                    <title type="html">32 Warhol</title>
  4748.            <author><name>Dena Rash Guzman
  4749. </name></author>
  4750.            <link href="/author/drguzman/32_warhol"/>
  4751.            <updated>2013-10-16T04:56:31Z</updated>
  4752.            <published>2013-10-16T04:56:31Z</published>
  4753.            <id></id>
  4754.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4755.                        term="freeverse"
  4756.                        label="Freeverse" />
  4757.                        <category   scheme=""
  4758.                        term="europe"
  4759.                        label="Europe" />
  4760.                        <category   scheme=""
  4761.                        term="translation"
  4762.                        label="Translation" />
  4764.                        <content type="html">
  4765.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4767. &lt;h3&gt;32&amp;nbsp;Warhol&lt;/h3&gt;
  4769. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Dena Rash&amp;nbsp;Guzman
  4770. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4772. &lt;div&gt;
  4773. &lt;iframe src=&#34;; height=&#34;281&#34; width=&#34;500&#34; allowfullscreen=&#34;&#34; webkitallowfullscreen=&#34;&#34; mozallowfullscreen=&#34;&#34; frameborder=&#34;0&#34;&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
  4775. &lt;p&gt;32 Warhol—A video poem from &lt;a href=&#34;;&gt;Jerimiah Whitlock&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;
  4777. &lt;p&gt;
  4778. 32 Warhol is a collaboration between Guzman, filmmaker Jerimiah Whitlock of Colorado and Texas, and translator Bjorn Wahlstrom, a Swede living in Hong Kong. The poem was written by Guzman, narrated and translated into German by Bjorn Wahlstrom and filmed by Jerimiah&amp;nbsp;Whitlock.&lt;/p&gt;
  4779. &lt;/div&gt;            </content>
  4780.            <summary type="html">
  4781.                &lt;p&gt;
  4782. 32 Warhol is a collaboration between Guzman, filmmaker Jerimiah Whitlock of Colorado and Texas, and translator Bjorn Wahlstrom, a Swede living in Hong Kong. The poem was written by Guzman, narrated and translated into German by Bjorn Wahlstrom and filmed by Jerimiah&amp;nbsp;Whitlock.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4783.        </entry>
  4784.            <entry>
  4785.                                    <title type="html">My Father Looks at Vermeer for the Last Time</title>
  4786.            <author><name>Barbara Louise Ungar
  4787. </name></author>
  4788.            <link href="/author/blungar/my_father_looks_at_vermeer"/>
  4789.            <updated>2013-10-15T04:31:53Z</updated>
  4790.            <published>2013-10-15T04:31:53Z</published>
  4791.            <id></id>
  4792.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4793.                        term="freeverse"
  4794.                        label="Freeverse" />
  4796.                        <content type="html">
  4797.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4799. &lt;h3&gt;My Father Looks at Vermeer for the Last&amp;nbsp;Time&lt;/h3&gt;
  4801. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Barbara Louise&amp;nbsp;Ungar
  4802. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4804. &lt;p&gt;The old scientist leans on his walker.&lt;br&gt;
  4805. His remaining eye is rheumy: what does it&amp;nbsp;see?&lt;/p&gt;
  4807. &lt;p&gt;He stares toward the dim chamber&lt;br&gt;
  4808. three hundred forty-two paint-years&amp;nbsp;away &lt;/p&gt;
  4810. &lt;p&gt;where yellow from Dutch stained glass &lt;br&gt;
  4811. draws the eye toward the astronomer’s&amp;nbsp;face &lt;/p&gt;
  4813. &lt;p&gt;blurring away from ours forever, his hands &lt;br&gt;
  4814. leaping off the table with its&amp;nbsp;astrolabe &lt;/p&gt;
  4816. &lt;p&gt;and celestial globe alive with the zodiac—&lt;br&gt;
  4817. The light of the mind,&amp;nbsp;creamy, &lt;/p&gt;
  4819. &lt;p&gt;skims this interior murky as an uncleaned &lt;br&gt;
  4820. tank, an indecipherable star&amp;nbsp;chart &lt;/p&gt;
  4822. &lt;p&gt;and picture of Moses in the bulrushes &lt;br&gt;
  4823. hung in the muddy&amp;nbsp;gloaming, &lt;/p&gt;
  4825. &lt;p&gt;the end of&amp;nbsp;knowledge.&lt;/p&gt;
  4827. &lt;p&gt;                                     The one who set up still&amp;nbsp;lifes&lt;/p&gt;
  4829. &lt;p&gt;and gave us his paints, who led us &lt;br&gt;
  4830. through infinite museums, hauls&amp;nbsp;off &lt;/p&gt;
  4832. &lt;p&gt;inscrutable as a tortoise. This will be &lt;br&gt;
  4833. the last time we can coax him from his&amp;nbsp;lair &lt;/p&gt;
  4835. &lt;p&gt;to meet his old friend, Vermeer, &lt;br&gt;
  4836. who so rarely stops by&amp;nbsp;Minneapolis. &lt;/p&gt;
  4838. &lt;p&gt;In any case, they no longer seem&lt;br&gt;
  4839. to have anything to say to each&amp;nbsp;other.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4840.            <summary type="html">
  4841.                &lt;p&gt;
  4842. &lt;/p&gt;
  4844. &lt;p&gt;This will be &lt;br&gt;
  4845. the last time we can coax him from his&amp;nbsp;lair &lt;/p&gt;
  4847. &lt;p&gt;to meet his old friend, Vermeer, &lt;br&gt;
  4848. who so rarely stops by&amp;nbsp;Minneapolis. &lt;/p&gt;
  4850. &lt;p&gt;In any case, they no longer seem&lt;br&gt;
  4851. to have anything to say to each&amp;nbsp;other.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4852.        </entry>
  4853.            <entry>
  4854.                                    <title type="html">Butterfly Collection</title>
  4855.            <author><name>Ed Shacklee
  4856. </name></author>
  4857.            <link href="/author/eshacklee/butterfly_collection"/>
  4858.            <updated>2013-10-12T18:46:05Z</updated>
  4859.            <published>2013-10-12T18:46:05Z</published>
  4860.            <id></id>
  4861.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4862.                        term="meter"
  4863.                        label="Meter" />
  4864.                        <category   scheme=""
  4865.                        term="rhyme"
  4866.                        label="Rhyme" />
  4868.                        <content type="html">
  4869.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4871. &lt;h3&gt;Butterfly&amp;nbsp;Collection&lt;/h3&gt;
  4873. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Ed&amp;nbsp;Shacklee
  4874. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4876. &lt;p&gt;Christ, immortal butterfly,&lt;br&gt;
  4877. pinned and always on display,&lt;br&gt;
  4878. bless this house, so prim and right,&lt;br&gt;
  4879. where nobody believes in&amp;nbsp;flight.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4880.            <summary type="html">
  4881.                &lt;p&gt;Christ, immortal butterfly,&lt;br&gt;
  4882. pinned and always on display,&lt;br&gt;
  4883. bless this house, so prim and right,&lt;br&gt;
  4884. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4885.        </entry>
  4886.            <entry>
  4887.                                    <title type="html">Propertius 1.1 &amp;amp; 1.6</title>
  4888.            <author><name>Chris Childers
  4889. </name></author>
  4890.            <link href="/author/cchilders/propertius_1_1_1_6"/>
  4891.            <updated>2013-10-10T04:08:24Z</updated>
  4892.            <published>2013-10-10T04:08:24Z</published>
  4893.            <id></id>
  4894.                                    <category   scheme=""
  4895.                        term="meter"
  4896.                        label="Meter" />
  4897.                        <category   scheme=""
  4898.                        term="rhyme"
  4899.                        label="Rhyme" />
  4901.                        <content type="html">
  4902.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  4904. &lt;h3&gt;Propertius 1.1 &lt;span class=&#34;amp&#34;&gt;&amp;amp;&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;1.6&lt;/h3&gt;
  4906. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Chris&amp;nbsp;Childers
  4907. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  4909. &lt;p&gt;1.1&lt;br&gt;
  4910.       Cynthia—it was those eyes—captured me first,&lt;br&gt;
  4911. poor kid, as yet untouched by lust, uncursed.  &lt;br&gt;
  4912. Then Love toppled my pride, my stubborn ways;&lt;br&gt;
  4913. his feet drove my head down and dropped my gaze,&lt;br&gt;
  4914. until the hellion taught me to reject   &lt;br&gt;                    
  4915. good girls, and live in excess and neglect. &lt;br&gt;
  4916. A year now, and this madness still subdues me;&lt;br&gt;
  4917. I’m forced to supplicate gods who refuse me. &lt;br&gt;
  4918.       Tullus, Milanion spared no drudgery&lt;br&gt;
  4919. to wear down Atalanta’s savagery:       &lt;br&gt;                
  4920. he roamed the Virgin Mountain, low and high,&lt;br&gt;
  4921. unhinged, and looked the wild beasts in the eye,&lt;br&gt;
  4922. and, when the centaur’s club knocked him a wound,&lt;br&gt;
  4923. he sprawled on the rocks of Arcady and groaned.&lt;br&gt;
  4924. That’s how he tamed his lady’s lightning speed; &lt;br&gt;        
  4925. so in love faith and effort should succeed. &lt;br&gt;
  4926.       My limping Love won’t use his former art&lt;br&gt;
  4927. and can’t recall his old map to the heart. &lt;br&gt;
  4928. But you who con the moon down, so you claim,&lt;br&gt;
  4929. and tend the dark gods by your magic flame, &lt;br&gt;            
  4930. now change my mistress’ mind and heart, go on,&lt;br&gt;
  4931. and make her face turn paler than my own!&lt;br&gt;
  4932. Then I’d grant your Thessalian witchcraft might&lt;br&gt;
  4933. reverse rivers, and siphon the stars’ light. &lt;br&gt;
  4934.       And you who call me back too late, my friends,    &lt;br&gt;    
  4935. find some cure for this heart that sickness rends.&lt;br&gt;
  4936. Surgeons could carve me up and I’d be brave,&lt;br&gt;
  4937. if free to shout what pain and fury crave. &lt;br&gt;
  4938. Take me through far-flung tribes, to the edge of Dawn,&lt;br&gt;
  4939. somewhere no woman knows where I have gone.     &lt;br&gt;    
  4940.       But you, whom the god blesses, stay behind;&lt;br&gt;
  4941. enjoy your safe love, always of one mind. &lt;br&gt;
  4942. On me, Venus drives bitter nights and black;&lt;br&gt;
  4943. Love’s never gone, and never gives me slack.&lt;br&gt;
  4944. I warn you, flee this suffering! Cling to   &lt;br&gt;                
  4945. long love; don’t trade a known bed for a new.&lt;br&gt;
  4946. Whoever hears too late these words of warning,&lt;br&gt;
  4947. what pain he’ll suffer yet, and ah, what&amp;nbsp;mourning!&lt;/p&gt;
  4949. &lt;p&gt;1.6&lt;br&gt;
  4950. Tullus, I’m not afraid to sail with you&lt;br&gt;
  4951. the Adriatic or Aegean blue;&lt;br&gt;
  4952. with you, I’d trek those peaks of Scythia’s,&lt;br&gt;
  4953. or farther south than Memnon’s palaces;&lt;br&gt;
  4954. but my girl hugs my neck, and blocks my path,       &lt;br&gt;            
  4955. and begs, and blanches, and turns red with wrath.&lt;br&gt;
  4956. All night she blurts her feelings, bares her heart,&lt;br&gt;
  4957. and says there are no gods, if I depart;&lt;br&gt;
  4958. she cries she’s mine no more, and starts to shrill&lt;br&gt;
  4959. threats at my thanklessness, as women will.     &lt;br&gt;            
  4960. Minutes of these complaints, and I give in—&lt;br&gt;
  4961. shame on the man who loves with thicker skin!&lt;br&gt;
  4962.             Is it worth it to see the golden thrones&lt;br&gt;
  4963. of ancient Asia, or Athens’ learned stones,&lt;br&gt;
  4964. if raving Cynthia will shriek at me     &lt;br&gt;                    
  4965. and shred her cheeks as I put out to sea,&lt;br&gt;
  4966. crying she owes my kisses to the breeze,&lt;br&gt;
  4967. that nothing’s worse than a man’s treacheries?&lt;br&gt;
  4968.             Go on, outdo your uncle’s offices,  &lt;br&gt;                        
  4969. bring law back to forgetful provinces;      &lt;br&gt;            
  4970. though young, you’ve had no time for passion’s charms:&lt;br&gt;
  4971. your whole concern’s our country under arms.&lt;br&gt;
  4972. May Cupid never thrust these lover’s woes&lt;br&gt;
  4973. on you or teach you what my sorrow knows!   &lt;br&gt;                
  4974.             Let me, whom Lady Luck debarred from action,&lt;br&gt;            
  4975. breathe my last breath in slothful stupefaction.&lt;br&gt;
  4976. Many long lovers delightedly have died;&lt;br&gt;
  4977. count me with them, and I’ll die satisfied.&lt;br&gt;
  4978. I’m not cut out for glory or for war:       &lt;br&gt;                    
  4979. my destiny’s to march in Cupid’s corps!     &lt;br&gt;                
  4980.             Whether in decadent Ionia,&lt;br&gt;
  4981. or where Pactolus waters Lydia,&lt;br&gt;
  4982. whether you row the waves, or walk on land,&lt;br&gt;
  4983. you’ll be a welcome cog in the command;&lt;br&gt;
  4984. then, if some thought of me should come to you,&lt;br&gt;            
  4985. you’ll know what savage star I’m subject&amp;nbsp;to.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  4986.            <summary type="html">
  4987.                &lt;p&gt;Tullus, I’m not afraid to sail with you&lt;br&gt;
  4988. the Adriatic or Aegean blue;&lt;br&gt;
  4989. with you, I’d trek those peaks of Scythia’s,&lt;br&gt;
  4990. or farther south than Memnon’s palaces;&lt;br&gt;
  4991. but my girl hugs my neck, and blocks my path,       &lt;br&gt;            
  4992. and begs, and blanches, and turns red with&amp;nbsp;wrath.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  4993.        </entry>
  4994.            <entry>
  4995.                                    <title type="html">Waking Moon</title>
  4996.            <author><name>Cally Conan-Davies
  4997. </name></author>
  4998.            <link href="/author/ccdavies/waking_moon"/>
  4999.            <updated>2013-10-09T16:43:55Z</updated>
  5000.            <published>2013-10-09T16:43:55Z</published>
  5001.            <id></id>
  5002.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5003.                        term="meter"
  5004.                        label="Meter" />
  5005.                        <category   scheme=""
  5006.                        term="rhyme"
  5007.                        label="Rhyme" />
  5009.                        <content type="html">
  5010.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5012. &lt;h3&gt;Waking&amp;nbsp;Moon&lt;/h3&gt;
  5014. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Cally&amp;nbsp;Conan-Davies
  5015. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5017. &lt;p&gt;Last night I fell&lt;br&gt;
  5018. into the&amp;nbsp;sky&lt;/p&gt;
  5020. &lt;p&gt;with silver gulls&lt;br&gt;
  5021. light as&amp;nbsp;they.&lt;/p&gt;
  5023. &lt;p&gt;Earth spilled in&lt;br&gt;
  5024. the Milky&amp;nbsp;Way,&lt;/p&gt;
  5026. &lt;p&gt;I saw it through&lt;br&gt;
  5027. an open&amp;nbsp;eye.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5028.            <summary type="html">
  5029.                &lt;p&gt;Last night I fell&lt;br&gt;
  5030. into the&amp;nbsp;sky&lt;/p&gt;
  5032. &lt;p&gt;with silver gulls&lt;br&gt;
  5033. light as&amp;nbsp;they.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5034.        </entry>
  5035.            <entry>
  5036.                                    <title type="html">Sans Everything</title>
  5037.            <author><name>Barbara Louise Ungar
  5038. </name></author>
  5039.            <link href="/author/blungar/sans_everything"/>
  5040.            <updated>2013-10-06T21:24:15Z</updated>
  5041.            <published>2013-10-06T21:24:15Z</published>
  5042.            <id></id>
  5043.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5044.                        term="freeverse"
  5045.                        label="Freeverse" />
  5047.                        <content type="html">
  5048.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5050. &lt;h3&gt;Sans&amp;nbsp;Everything&lt;/h3&gt;
  5052. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Barbara Louise&amp;nbsp;Ungar
  5053. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5055. &lt;p&gt;The longest day of the&amp;nbsp;year.&lt;/p&gt;
  5057. &lt;p&gt;He sits dignified as Geronimo’s last portrait, &lt;br&gt;
  5058. though we found him with pants on the floor, &lt;br&gt;
  5059. diaper around his&amp;nbsp;ankles.&lt;/p&gt;
  5061. &lt;p&gt;We have Beckett&amp;nbsp;conversations:&lt;/p&gt;
  5063. &lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Are you a lion or a gorilla?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  5064.             I’m your daughter.&lt;br&gt;
  5065.             &lt;i&gt;When did they let you out of&amp;nbsp;jail?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5066.             &lt;p&gt;What have you got in your hand, Dad?&lt;br&gt;
  5067. He peers into his empty palm.&lt;br&gt;
  5068.             &lt;i&gt;A&amp;nbsp;bush.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5069.             &lt;p&gt;I’ll see you tomorrow, Dad.&lt;br&gt;
  5070.             &lt;i&gt;There are a lot of tomorrows.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  5071.                                     Tomorrow and . .&amp;nbsp;.&lt;/p&gt;
  5072. &lt;p&gt;Once, with blue lucidity, &lt;i&gt;I’ll miss&amp;nbsp;you.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5073. &lt;p&gt;A new woman storms the halls, imploring,&lt;br&gt;
  5074.             &lt;i&gt;Do you know where the door is?&lt;br&gt;
  5075. Can you let me&amp;nbsp;out?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5077. &lt;!--
  5078. &lt;p style=&#34;text-align: center;&#34;&gt;*&lt;/p&gt;
  5079. --&gt;
  5081. &lt;p style=&#34;padding-left: 7em;&#34;&gt;*&lt;/p&gt;
  5083. &lt;p&gt;I leave, take my boy to the zoo,&lt;br&gt;
  5084. full of fat Minnesotans with too many kids.&lt;br&gt;
  5085. The polar bears’ concrete lair is&amp;nbsp;hot.&lt;/p&gt;
  5087. &lt;p&gt;The male, piss-stain yellow, huge beyond &lt;br&gt;
  5088. belief, rears to ram his head repeatedly&lt;br&gt;
  5089. up against the steel door&amp;nbsp;handle—&lt;/p&gt;
  5091. &lt;p style=&#34;padding-left: 7em;&#34;&gt;*&lt;/p&gt;
  5093. &lt;p&gt;The Talmud lists three keys &lt;br&gt;
  5094. in the hands of G-d &lt;br&gt;
  5095. not entrusted to any&amp;nbsp;messenger: &lt;/p&gt;
  5097. &lt;p&gt;the key to rain, &lt;br&gt;
  5098. the key to childbirth,&lt;br&gt;
  5099. the key to&amp;nbsp;death.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5100.            <summary type="html">
  5101.                &lt;p&gt;We have Beckett&amp;nbsp;conversations:&lt;/p&gt;
  5103. &lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Are you a lion or a gorilla?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br&gt;
  5104.             I’m your daughter.&lt;br&gt;
  5105.             &lt;i&gt;When did they let you out of&amp;nbsp;jail?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5106.             &lt;p&gt;What have you got in your hand, Dad?&lt;br&gt;
  5107. He peers into his empty palm.&lt;br&gt;
  5108.             &lt;i&gt;A&amp;nbsp;bush.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5109.        </entry>
  5110.            <entry>
  5111.                                    <title type="html">Self-Interview</title>
  5112.            <author><name>Barbara Louise Ungar
  5113. </name></author>
  5114.            <link href="/author/blungar/self_interview"/>
  5115.            <updated>2013-10-06T20:42:52Z</updated>
  5116.            <published>2013-10-06T20:42:52Z</published>
  5117.            <id></id>
  5118.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5119.                        term="namerica"
  5120.                        label="Namerica" />
  5122.                        <content type="html">
  5123.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5125. &lt;h3&gt;Self-Interview&lt;/h3&gt;
  5127. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Barbara Louise&amp;nbsp;Ungar
  5128. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5130. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Have you ever written a&amp;nbsp;manifesto?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5132. &lt;p&gt;Yes. My Manifesto&amp;nbsp;is:&lt;/p&gt;
  5134. &lt;p&gt;All pronouncements&lt;br&gt;
  5135. about poetry&lt;br&gt;
  5136. are wrong.&lt;p/&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5137. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Including that&amp;nbsp;one?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5139. &lt;p&gt;Obviously.&lt;/p&gt;
  5141. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Can you explain,&amp;nbsp;please?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5143. &lt;pre&gt;&lt;code&gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;Once in the Bahamas, local fishing guys took me to swim in the channel between two islands when the tide changed: we were swept along with every kind of fish, barracuda and shark, parrot fish and angel, all subject to the same tides, narrowed in that cut to a high speed sluice. Regular pronouncements about the moribund state of poetry consider mostly the big fish who swim in popular grounds, while the depths are teeming with undiscovered creatures. We are all swept along together, on regularly reversing tides, which none of us can escape, but merely look curiously at our near neighbors as we pass.&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;
  5144. &lt;/code&gt;&lt;/pre&gt;
  5145. &lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What do you think about&amp;nbsp;MFAs?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5146.    &lt;p&gt;Oddly, I teach in an &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt; program (brand new, at the College of Saint Rose, in Albany, &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;NY&lt;/span&gt;), but do not have one myself. However, I am missing only one letter, since my &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MA&lt;/span&gt; from City College, &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;CUNY&lt;/span&gt;, was in writing. &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;CCNY&lt;/span&gt; now has an &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt; program, but twenty years ago there were far fewer, so many writers have MAs that are the equivalent of MFAs, though not credited as such by many institutions, including my&amp;nbsp;own.&lt;/p&gt;
  5147. &lt;p&gt;Do you ever regret not having an &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;yourself?&lt;/p&gt;
  5148.    &lt;p&gt;No, but I do sometimes wish I had gone directly into a writing program, when I dropped out of graduate school in literature to become a writer: it would have saved time and effort. Like many young writers, I was arrogant: I wanted to be Doestoevsky, and Dostoevsky didn’t need no stinkin’ &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt;. So it took me ten years of writing, working, and traveling around the world to realize that I was not Dostoevsky, nor was meant to be, before I returned to graduate school—this time, the aforementioned beloved writing program. In retrospect, I had not lived enough yet to have much to write about; I could have used my twenties to learn technique, while making all the usual&amp;nbsp;mistakes.&lt;/p&gt;
  5149. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;So, your ego got in the&amp;nbsp;way?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5150.    &lt;p&gt;Yes. Ego has no business in writing, except in the process of sending out for publication (and there, too, it can get in the way). First, there is the fallacy of first intentions: student writers are often reluctant to let go of early drafts because of the mistaken notion that they are being faithful to the experience or their original emotion; it can take a long time to learn to let go of the triggering experience (to borrow from Richard Hugo’s sexist but still terrific &lt;i&gt;The Triggering Town&lt;/i&gt;) and do whatever it takes to make the best poem possible. Frank O’Hara’s “Why I Am Not a Painter” describes the transmutation of the initial impulse to poetry, as in art—you follow the “golden thread” of your process wherever it leads, as Stafford puts&amp;nbsp;it.&lt;/p&gt;
  5151.    &lt;p&gt;Similarly, in the beginning, criticism it is hard to take, because of ego; you think you are being criticized, rather than your work. I cried for days after Fred Tuten cut my short story in half in my first &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MA&lt;/span&gt; workshop. (He was right, of course.) The longer you write, the more ruthless you become with your own work, and with that of others: the more you welcome good criticism, let down your defenses, and do whatever you can to make your writing its best. Ego drops&amp;nbsp;away.&lt;/p&gt;
  5152.    &lt;p&gt;Finally, in poetry, there are almost no egotistical rewards. As Flannery O’Connor put it, “Poetry, I presume, is its own reward: don’t cost but a nickel to send it out and get it back.” Or, as Joel Oppenheimer said, “You’re a poet when you’re twenty because you’re twenty; you’re a poet when you’re forty because you’re a poet.” Many give up, the external rewards are so few. Only if the process of writing poetry itself is your reward do you continue: “It was like being alive twice,” as Li Bai wrote to Tu Fu, and Linda Gregg to Jack&amp;nbsp;Gilbert.&lt;/p&gt;
  5153. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Did you receive any good advice from&amp;nbsp;teachers?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5154.    &lt;p&gt;Yes. Bill Matthews gave me two pieces of advice that I ignored. The first was to let go of my &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MA&lt;/span&gt; thesis and simply start another manuscript. But it was a finalist at Anhinga, which got my hopes up, so I continued to tweak it: adding new, stronger poems, deleting weaker ones. By the time my first book (&lt;i&gt;Thrift&lt;/i&gt;) got published, perhaps one or two poems from the original manuscript remained. I should have listened and started a new&amp;nbsp;manuscript.&lt;/p&gt;
  5155.    &lt;p&gt;The other piece of Matthews’s advice I do not regret having ignored: he told me &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;NOT&lt;/span&gt; to get a PhD if I wanted to write. I continued at &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;CUNY&lt;/span&gt;, and got a PhD in English literature at the Graduate Center, which was a complete delight. I studied poetry with Angus Fletcher, whose erudition and love of poetry was amazing. We sat on the 40th floor of the Grace Building (on 42nd Street, where the Grad. Center was then located) looking out floor-to-ceiling windows at spectacular views of Manhattan, listening to him read aloud and discourse on poets from Donne and Kit Smart to Whitman and Poe; I wanted to curl up behind his ear and listen to him forever. I was extremely lucky to land a full-time, tenured position, in which I get to teach both creative writing and literature, which is ideal to me; I had yet to publish even a chapbook. I could never have done that with an &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt;, let alone an&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MA&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;
  5156. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What else did you learn from Matthews, and/or from other&amp;nbsp;teachers?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5157.    &lt;p&gt;I learned how to edit my own work, and how to teach writing. Matthews was an impressive model of wit, erudition, and patience, giving equal attention to all workshop participants. He writes somewhere of his own gift for defusing tension with gentle humor, and this made his classes a pleasure. I learned to take an easy hand, and let the workshop flow, but nip trouble in the bud, preferably with humor. He said once that you never know who in a class will write a great poem, and his teaching bore this out: he showed no favoritism, but gave each person equal time and care, always pitching his remarks to the level that particular student could take in. I try to emulate this in my own&amp;nbsp;teaching.&lt;/p&gt;
  5158.    &lt;p&gt;I also took Frank Bidart’s Master Class at the New York State Summer Writers Institute at Skidmore for half a dozen years. His devotion to poetry is astonishing: he can listen unflaggingly to poetry for more hours than anyone else I’ve ever met, and is an editing genius. He edited Robert Lowell’s poetry both early and late, and knew Elizabeth Bishop, so I felt honored to be in the same room with him, let alone have him doctor my poems. He taught me that you can often learn more when another poet’s work is under the knife than your own (again, let go of ego) and continually raised my critical&amp;nbsp;standards.&lt;/p&gt;
  5159.    &lt;p&gt;From all I learned the importance of the workshop; though I no longer attend one formally, I participated in several peer groups for many years, and now regularly show my work to two or three other poets whose work and opinions I esteem. It saves time and energy; it is always easier to edit the work of&amp;nbsp;another.&lt;/p&gt;
  5160. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;One more &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;MFA&lt;/span&gt; question: what do you think about low-residency versus residential&amp;nbsp;programs?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5161.    &lt;p&gt;Well, having attended a residential writing program, and teaching in one now, I am of course a bit prejudiced in that direction. So I’ll start with the counter argument: friends who teach in and/or run low-residency programs attest to their success; they say that in terms of actual hours with the teacher, both types of program are equal, given the intensity of the bi-yearly meetings of low-residency programs, plus the added benefit of having individual attention from your mentor(s) in writing. So I think it is up to the individual to decide which sort of program works best for them, given all the other considerations of life, such as work, family, location, time, and&amp;nbsp;money.&lt;/p&gt;
  5162.    &lt;p&gt;For me, there is great value in physical proximity to the teacher, and the other workshop members. As in the yogic tradition, there is a kind of shakti that gets passed on from teacher to student; one reason, for example, it is so thrilling to study with Bidart is that you feel only one link removed from Elizabeth Bishop, and through her to Marianne Moore. There is a body of wisdom each poet has collected (like burrs, as Frost says) over the course of a lifetime, which get passed on (again, like burrs) in bon mots and witty asides as much as in critiques of one’s own and other students’ work. I often find myself repeating them when I teach, as I do&amp;nbsp;here.&lt;/p&gt;
  5163. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Does teaching help or hinder your&amp;nbsp;writing?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5164.    &lt;p&gt;Well, there are always the twin problems of time and money. I have flexible hours, several months off a year, and sabbaticals, which, short of being an heiress, is the best possible schedule for a writer. Then teaching keeps me in touch with young people and contemporary writers, as well as classics. The title of my new manuscript, &lt;i&gt;Reading Rumi to Dolphins&lt;/i&gt;, was inspired by teaching Early World Literature for twenty-some years. This summer I’m inventing a seminar called “Satan in Literature,” for which I get to reread Stephen Mitchell’s translations of Genesis and Job, along with Dante, Milton and Blake; would I otherwise be reading Milton this summer?&amp;nbsp;Doubtful.&lt;/p&gt;
  5165. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What do you think of obscurity in&amp;nbsp;poetry?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5166.    &lt;p&gt;It bores me. I think it largely responsible for the lack of interest the general public has in poetry. I hope to write good poems that cats and dogs can understand. I consider it a great compliment to be told, “I don’t like poetry, but I like your&amp;nbsp;work.” &lt;/p&gt;
  5167. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;No, you misunderstand me; I meant the obscurity of your own work—as in receiving little to no&amp;nbsp;attention.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5168.    &lt;p&gt;For most poets, the return in terms of external response is miniscule. At first, I tried to write fiction because I wanted my family and friends to read my work, but eventually reverted to what comes most naturally, which is&amp;nbsp;poetry. &lt;/p&gt;
  5169. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;What do you think of poetry&amp;nbsp;contests?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5170.    &lt;p&gt;Hate ’em, but they’re just about the only game in town. All my book publications have resulted from them, directly or indirectly. Both chapbooks and my first book were published as runners up or finalists for contests; the second alone won a prize, and the third a juried competition. So few people buy poetry books that we who write them must support one another; I think of contests (and reading fees for open reading periods) like old-fashioned subscriptions, which keep poetry presses afloat, and I am happy to&amp;nbsp;contribute.&lt;/p&gt;
  5171. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;You are working on your fifth book, while seeking a publisher for your fourth: how has the process evolved? Does the angst change? Does your&amp;nbsp;ambition?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5172.    &lt;p&gt;During the fifteen years I worked to get my first book published, during which I was a finalist at least three dozen times, I had to struggle against the despair that I would never succeed, and wanted only to get a book published. That fifteen-year wait has happened to several friends on their second book, even after winning major prizes, such as the National Poetry Series, so you learn that publication and prize-winning in no way guarantee future publication. However, having published three books, I have less fear and more confidence that eventually the fourth will get published, too, and the&amp;nbsp;fifth.&lt;/p&gt;
  5173.    &lt;p&gt;I also, alas, have less sheer delight in publication; the first time is the best. Later, it becomes work: the bringing of the book to light physically, with all its attendant problems; everything that can go wrong has, at one time or another—from paper to cover to font to gutters to proofreading—the physical artifact rarely if ever resembles the ideal book you imagined. Then, you have to try to sell it: few poets are born salespeople. I do love to give readings, but often you sell few copies. Bill Matthews compares the glamour of the poet’s life to that of a traveling feed salesman. It takes a lot of schlepping to sell a few books. As Ferlinghetti said, “If every A-hole who writes poems would buy books of poetry, poets could make a living.” So if you want to publish your own work, please, don’t only read but &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;BUY&lt;/span&gt; the work of&amp;nbsp;others.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5174.            <summary type="html">
  5175.                &lt;p&gt;
  5176. Regular pronouncements about the moribund state of poetry consider mostly the big fish who swim in popular grounds, while the depths are teeming with undiscovered creatures. We are all swept along together, on regularly reversing tides, which none of us can escape, but merely look curiously at our near neighbors as we&amp;nbsp;pass.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5177.        </entry>
  5178.            <entry>
  5179.                                    <title type="html">St. Sebastian&#39;s Executioner</title>
  5180.            <author><name>Derrick Austin
  5181. </name></author>
  5182.            <link href="/author/daustin/st_sebastian_s_executioner"/>
  5183.            <updated>2013-10-03T00:43:35Z</updated>
  5184.            <published>2013-10-03T00:43:35Z</published>
  5185.            <id></id>
  5186.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5187.                        term="meter"
  5188.                        label="Meter" />
  5189.                        <category   scheme=""
  5190.                        term="rhyme"
  5191.                        label="Rhyme" />
  5193.                        <content type="html">
  5194.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5196. &lt;h3&gt;St. Sebastian&amp;#8217;s&amp;nbsp;Executioner&lt;/h3&gt;
  5198. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Derrick&amp;nbsp;Austin
  5199. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5201. &lt;p&gt;A stag chews waist-high grass under an elm.&lt;br&gt;
  5202. Its herd sleeps, each a bright, wet weed,&lt;br&gt;
  5203. in a freshly rain-swept field turning in the&amp;nbsp;wind,&lt;/p&gt;
  5205. &lt;p&gt;flashing dark then bright like a soldier’s skin—&lt;br&gt;
  5206. my bronze arm paling into my shoulder’s moon. &lt;br&gt;
  5207. Wind brushes the stag and me. It is&amp;nbsp;cool &lt;/p&gt;
  5209. &lt;p&gt;and touched by mint. I draw the bowstring. &lt;br&gt;
  5210. It jerks its large, brown head. A black bear &lt;br&gt;
  5211. lumbers out of underbrush, a drunk,&amp;nbsp;dizzy &lt;/p&gt;
  5213. &lt;p&gt;and bright with honey. No. Bright with bees. &lt;br&gt;
  5214. Like memory or apprehensions of the soul,&lt;br&gt;
  5215. they anchor their needles. The bear&amp;nbsp;stops.&lt;/p&gt;
  5217. &lt;p&gt;Numb and swollen, swollen, too, with sweetness. &lt;br&gt;
  5218. Is my soul like the bear? Or the stag and its cud? &lt;br&gt;
  5219. Or the cud after being flushed through its&amp;nbsp;body? &lt;/p&gt;
  5221. &lt;p&gt;Or the bees at their wax and gold palace, guarding &lt;br&gt;
  5222. a sweetness they cannot consume but will die for? &lt;br&gt;
  5223. Like me, he was a soldier, bright clay-colored&amp;nbsp;beard.&lt;/p&gt;
  5225. &lt;p&gt;He was not young with his belly and puffy limbs. &lt;br&gt;
  5226. He was not quiet any more than he was beautiful,&lt;br&gt;
  5227. tethered and beaten, but I still cannot name&amp;nbsp;what&lt;/p&gt;
  5229. &lt;p&gt;he died for. His death was many years ago.&lt;br&gt;
  5230. I am the bear trudging off—bees gone; herd moving, &lt;br&gt;
  5231. unmoved—to whatever mean peace it&amp;nbsp;knows&lt;/p&gt;
  5233. &lt;p&gt;in the wet woods. Like the strain of a bowstring, &lt;br&gt;
  5234. bow’s blowback, faith separated in me &lt;br&gt;
  5235. as he looked at us, the crust of sky. Stag or&amp;nbsp;criminal,&lt;/p&gt;
  5237. &lt;p&gt;sign or saint, I will spend my life arrowing toward&amp;nbsp;you.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5238.            <summary type="html">
  5239.                &lt;p&gt;A stag chews waist-high grass under an elm.&lt;br&gt;
  5240. Its herd sleeps, each a bright, wet weed,&lt;br&gt;
  5241. in a freshly rain-swept field turning in the&amp;nbsp;wind,&lt;/p&gt;
  5243. &lt;p&gt;flashing dark then bright like a soldier’s skin—&lt;br&gt;
  5244. my bronze arm paling into my shoulder’s moon.&lt;br&gt;
  5245. Wind brushes the stag and&amp;nbsp;me.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5246.        </entry>
  5247.            <entry>
  5248.                                    <title type="html">Gently Still Finding You Between</title>
  5249.            <author><name>Siham Karami
  5250. </name></author>
  5251.            <link href="/author/skarami/gently_still_finding_you_between"/>
  5252.            <updated>2013-09-13T04:18:38Z</updated>
  5253.            <published>2013-09-13T04:18:38Z</published>
  5254.            <id></id>
  5255.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5256.                        term="meter"
  5257.                        label="Meter" />
  5258.                        <category   scheme=""
  5259.                        term="rhyme"
  5260.                        label="Rhyme" />
  5262.                        <content type="html">
  5263.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5265. &lt;h3&gt;Gently Still Finding You&amp;nbsp;Between&lt;/h3&gt;
  5267. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Siham&amp;nbsp;Karami
  5268. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5270. &lt;p&gt;
  5271. spirals in the shell you left behind,&lt;br&gt;
  5272. on staircases, in tiny unseen rooms,&lt;br&gt;
  5273. interstices, hidden ventricles,&lt;br&gt;
  5274. auricles collapsed and yet&amp;nbsp;alive,&lt;/p&gt;
  5276. &lt;p&gt;
  5277. imaginary origami hearts,&lt;br&gt;
  5278. a nautilus still pumping through the days&lt;br&gt;
  5279. that lost you in their downy underside&lt;br&gt;
  5280. like sepals undernoticed, or a potted&lt;br&gt;
  5281. cactus near the window no one looks&amp;nbsp;through. &lt;/p&gt;
  5283. &lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;
  5284. What liquids had been stored in you for years?&lt;br&gt;
  5285. Love or some restrained guffaw or blooming&lt;br&gt;
  5286. should have burst through sediment and rock.&lt;br&gt;
  5287. So much to say, we found no way to&amp;nbsp;talk.&lt;/p&gt;
  5288. &lt;p&gt;
  5289. The droplets never touched the cavern floor —&lt;br&gt;
  5290. bonded to the minerals that melt&lt;br&gt;
  5291. in geologic time, you are no more,&lt;br&gt;
  5292. although your shape still shadows my old thoughts:&lt;br&gt;
  5293. a gentle tapping on the window&amp;#8217;s cold.&lt;br&gt;
  5294. A film of rain coats footprints on the&amp;nbsp;stairs.
  5295. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5296.            <summary type="html">
  5297.                &lt;p&gt;
  5298. spirals in the shell you left behind,&lt;br&gt;
  5299. on staircases, in tiny unseen rooms,&lt;br&gt;
  5300. interstices, hidden ventricles,&lt;br&gt;
  5301. auricles collapsed and yet&amp;nbsp;alive,&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5302.        </entry>
  5303.            <entry>
  5304.                                    <title type="html">With Love, Consumed</title>
  5305.            <author><name>Philip Quinlan
  5306. </name></author>
  5307.            <link href="/author/pquinlan/with_love_consumed"/>
  5308.            <updated>2013-09-07T09:35:05Z</updated>
  5309.            <published>2013-09-07T09:35:05Z</published>
  5310.            <id></id>
  5311.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5312.                        term="meter"
  5313.                        label="Meter" />
  5314.                        <category   scheme=""
  5315.                        term="rhyme"
  5316.                        label="Rhyme" />
  5318.                        <content type="html">
  5319.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5321. &lt;h3&gt;With Love,&amp;nbsp;Consumed&lt;/h3&gt;
  5323. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Philip&amp;nbsp;Quinlan
  5324. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5326. &lt;p&gt;
  5327. Within a room, the woman comes and goes&lt;br&gt;
  5328. in cinematic dream scenarios;&lt;br&gt;
  5329. such is the pleasure dome which you decreed,&lt;br&gt;
  5330. where satisfaction’s safely&amp;nbsp;guaranteed&lt;/p&gt;
  5332. &lt;p&gt;and takeaway becomes the food of love.&lt;br&gt;
  5333. Between the sheets, the winding sheets &lt;em&gt;you&lt;/em&gt; wove,&lt;br&gt;
  5334. starvation’s angel waits upon your word&lt;br&gt;
  5335. to serve, to service, serve up the&amp;nbsp;absurd.&lt;/p&gt;
  5337. &lt;p&gt;A little numbness comforts: eat, repeat;&lt;br&gt;
  5338. the aftertaste’s a secondary concern.&lt;br&gt;
  5339. Full-filling is indecency’s deceit:&lt;br&gt;
  5340. the emptiness insists, on its&amp;nbsp;return,&lt;/p&gt;
  5342. &lt;p&gt;on greed, on need indeed which will not wait.&lt;br&gt;
  5343. And, truth to tell, it’s stranger to&amp;nbsp;relate.
  5345. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5346.            <summary type="html">
  5347.                &lt;p&gt;
  5348. Within a room, the woman comes and goes&lt;br&gt;
  5349. in cinematic dream scenarios;&lt;br&gt;
  5350. such is the pleasure dome which you decreed,&lt;br&gt;
  5351. where satisfaction’s safely&amp;nbsp;guaranteed&lt;/p&gt;
  5353. &lt;p&gt;and takeaway becomes the food of love.&lt;p/&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5354.        </entry>
  5355.            <entry>
  5356.                                    <title type="html">Les Six: Concert Program Notes</title>
  5357.            <author><name>Esther Greenleaf Murer
  5358. </name></author>
  5359.            <link href="/author/egmurer/les_six_concert_program_notes"/>
  5360.            <updated>2013-09-04T04:09:05Z</updated>
  5361.            <published>2013-09-04T04:09:05Z</published>
  5362.            <id></id>
  5363.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5364.                        term="freeverse"
  5365.                        label="Freeverse" />
  5367.                        <content type="html">
  5368.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5370. &lt;h3&gt;Les Six: Concert Program&amp;nbsp;Notes&lt;/h3&gt;
  5372. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Esther Greenleaf&amp;nbsp;Murer
  5373. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5375. &lt;p&gt;1. &lt;i&gt;Trio for oboe, clarinet and bassoon&lt;/i&gt;—Georges Auric&lt;br&gt;            
  5376. The haunting theme, &amp;#8220;Fa mi do la do re&amp;#8221; &lt;br&gt;              
  5377. came out of a year of hardship &lt;i&gt;en guerre.&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br&gt;          
  5378. One can also hear echoes of &amp;#8220;O sole mio&amp;#8221;  &lt;br&gt;        
  5379. which the woodwinds at times prolong   &lt;br&gt;      
  5380. like a peacock&amp;#8217;s&amp;nbsp;tailfeather.&lt;/p&gt;
  5382. &lt;p&gt;2.  &lt;i&gt;Sonata for harp&lt;/i&gt;—Germaine Tailleferre&lt;br&gt;  
  5383. The opening movement is euphoric    &lt;br&gt;  
  5384. with the harp going puhlink puhlonk    &lt;br&gt;  
  5385. with such energy you want to shout &amp;#8220;Hooray!    &lt;br&gt;  
  5386. That&amp;#8217;s the way to swing it, Mommy-O!&amp;#8221;           &lt;br&gt;          
  5387. She must have written that on a&amp;nbsp;dare.    &lt;/p&gt;
  5389. &lt;pre&gt;&lt;code&gt;
  5390. &lt;/code&gt;&lt;/pre&gt;
  5391. &lt;p&gt;3. &lt;i&gt;Pacific 231, symphonic movement&lt;/i&gt;—Artur Honegger&lt;br&gt;  
  5392. You&amp;#8217;d never know this concert was a black-tie affair&lt;br&gt;  
  5393. when you hear the violins going &amp;#8220;Meow&amp;#8221;    &lt;br&gt;  
  5394. and the horns subjecting your auric-&lt;br&gt;  
  5395. ular senses to &lt;i&gt;la peine dure et&lt;br&gt;  
  5396. forte&lt;/i&gt;, bombarding your ears&amp;nbsp;point-blank.&lt;/p&gt;
  5398. &lt;p&gt;4. &lt;i&gt;Litanies to the Black Madonna&lt;/i&gt;—Francis Poulenc&lt;br&gt;  
  5399. The women&amp;#8217;s choir sings forth its hunger&lt;br&gt;  
  5400. for union with the &lt;i&gt;idole adorée&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br&gt;  
  5401. Perhaps you  remember your Thai lover    &lt;br&gt;  
  5402. or childhood sweetheart and moan, &amp;#8220;Oh, Rick&amp;#8230;&amp;#8221; &lt;br&gt;  
  5403. or &amp;#8220;Wherefore art thou&amp;nbsp;Romeo?&amp;#8221;  &lt;/p&gt;
  5405. &lt;p&gt;5.  &lt;i&gt;Jeux de printemps&lt;/i&gt;—Darius Milhaud&lt;br&gt;  
  5406. Now it&amp;#8217;s time to unwind, sip Oolong   &lt;br&gt;  
  5407. tea, think of that almost prehistoric  &lt;br&gt;  
  5408. time when a child could ride on a gare-       &lt;br&gt;  
  5409. fowl.  These days you&amp;#8217;d have to tie a fair  &lt;br&gt;  
  5410. number of flies to lure one from its&amp;nbsp;hideaway. &lt;/p&gt;
  5412. &lt;p&gt;6. &lt;i&gt;Song cycle &amp;#8220;L&amp;#8217;offrande lyrique&amp;#8221;&lt;/i&gt;—Louis Durey&lt;br&gt;  
  5413. Picture, if you will, an English milord&lt;br&gt;  
  5414. and his entourage riding in a telpher        &lt;br&gt;  
  5415. up the side of Mont Blanc;     &lt;br&gt;  
  5416. at the top he sees the honey glare &lt;br&gt;  
  5417. of sun on ice and cries&amp;nbsp;&amp;#8220;Eureka!&amp;#8221;  &lt;/p&gt;
  5419. &lt;p&gt;Collaborative encore:  Cameo of Max Planck &lt;br&gt;  
  5420. rowing a dory.   An egger moth flits &lt;br&gt;  
  5421. between Doric columns on a tile of&amp;nbsp;air.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5422.            <summary type="html">
  5423.                &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Pacific 231, symphonic movement&lt;/i&gt;—Artur Honneger&lt;br&gt;  
  5424. You&amp;#8217;d never know this concert was a black-tie affair&lt;br&gt;  
  5425. when you hear the violins going &amp;#8220;Meow&amp;#8221;    &lt;br&gt;  
  5426. and the horns subjecting your auric-&lt;br&gt;  
  5427. ular senses to &lt;i&gt;la peine dure et&lt;br&gt;  
  5428. forte&lt;/i&gt;, bombarding your ears&amp;nbsp;point-blank.
  5429. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5430.        </entry>
  5431.            <entry>
  5432.                                    <title type="html">Divination</title>
  5433.            <author><name>Kazim Ali
  5434. </name></author>
  5435.            <link href="/author/kali/divination"/>
  5436.            <updated>2013-09-03T03:13:22Z</updated>
  5437.            <published>2013-09-03T03:13:22Z</published>
  5438.            <id></id>
  5439.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5440.                        term="meter"
  5441.                        label="Meter" />
  5442.                        <category   scheme=""
  5443.                        term="rhyme"
  5444.                        label="Rhyme" />
  5446.                        <content type="html">
  5447.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5449. &lt;h3&gt;Divination&lt;/h3&gt;
  5451. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Kazim&amp;nbsp;Ali
  5452. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5454. &lt;p&gt;Your son turns restive in his sleep&lt;br&gt;
  5455. Whispered away by morning to&amp;nbsp;dusk&lt;/p&gt;
  5457. &lt;p&gt;Verses bloom along his wrists and throat&lt;br&gt;
  5458. In bright sentences his name is&amp;nbsp;cut&lt;/p&gt;
  5460. &lt;p&gt;Five times a day he cries out&lt;br&gt;
  5461. His voice snuffed in flowery&amp;nbsp;wells&lt;/p&gt;
  5463. &lt;p&gt;He knows in his heart none can take you truly in&lt;br&gt;
  5464. Save the house that unhomed&amp;nbsp;you
  5466. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5467.            <summary type="html">
  5468.                &lt;p&gt;Your son turns restive in his sleep&lt;br&gt;
  5469. Whispered away by morning to&amp;nbsp;dusk&lt;/p&gt;
  5471. &lt;p&gt;Verses bloom along his wrists and throat&lt;br&gt;
  5472. In bright sentences his name is&amp;nbsp;cut
  5473. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5474.        </entry>
  5475.            <entry>
  5476.                                    <title type="html">Black &amp; White Gotham</title>
  5477.            <author><name>Matthew Hittinger
  5478. </name></author>
  5479.            <link href="/author/mhittinger/black_white_gotham"/>
  5480.            <updated>2013-08-30T07:21:22Z</updated>
  5481.            <published>2013-08-30T07:21:22Z</published>
  5482.            <id></id>
  5483.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5484.                        term="meter"
  5485.                        label="Meter" />
  5486.                        <category   scheme=""
  5487.                        term="rhyme"
  5488.                        label="Rhyme" />
  5490.                        <content type="html">
  5491.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5493. &lt;h3&gt;Black &lt;span class=&#34;amp&#34;&gt;&amp;amp;&lt;/span&gt; White&amp;nbsp;Gotham&lt;/h3&gt;
  5495. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Matthew&amp;nbsp;Hittinger
  5496. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5498. &lt;p&gt;01. This is a mural.&lt;br&gt;
  5499. 02. This is a mural in a men&amp;#8217;s room that is no longer a men&amp;#8217;s room.&lt;br&gt;
  5500. 03. This is not a mural but a guide a price list a primer.&lt;br&gt;
  5501. 04. The canvas primed with numbers an infinite amount of numbers.&lt;br&gt;
  5502. 05. The infinite potential of a white painting&amp;#8217;s three panels.&lt;br&gt;
  5503. 06. White house paint and a black hand roller.&lt;br&gt;
  5504. 07. A hand.&lt;br&gt;
  5505. 08. The hand introduces a mark.&lt;br&gt;
  5506. 09. A black tire rolled in black paint and a long roll of white paper.&lt;br&gt;
  5507. 10. The hand erases the mark.&lt;br&gt;
  5508. 11. The hand removes all the paintings from the museum.&lt;br&gt;
  5509. 12. The empty museum has a conversation with you about progress.&lt;br&gt;
  5510. 13. First you feel like a child.&lt;br&gt;
  5511. 14. Then you feel like a young adult who thinks she knows the answer.&lt;br&gt;
  5512. 15. You become a middle aged man with a beard who avoids answers with questions.&lt;br&gt;
  5513. 16. And shrink into an elder woman who remakes the world out of dust and seconds.&lt;br&gt;
  5514. 17. The museum took you on a spiral and left you on its roof.&lt;br&gt;
  5515. 18. You reach for a cloud and find it&amp;#8217;s a glass eye.&lt;br&gt;
  5516. 19. Four minutes and thirty-three seconds of silence later.&lt;br&gt;
  5517. 20. Word event: a mark happens here.&lt;br&gt;
  5518. 21. Word event: the mark assembles.&lt;br&gt;
  5519. 22. Word event: the mark now in flux.&lt;br&gt;
  5520. 23. Black on black so black keep looking until you see the schwarz within the black.&lt;br&gt;
  5521. 24. Black shape on a black ground.&lt;br&gt;
  5522. 25. Black blue-black and black red-black.&lt;br&gt;
  5523. 26. White on white layered white shade and oil and acrylic weiß glass on paper.&lt;br&gt;
  5524. 27. White variation endless on a white square.&lt;br&gt;
  5525. 28. White how white over the white what white.&lt;br&gt;
  5526. 29. Black on white there&amp;#8217;s a stripe and it pulsates.&lt;br&gt;
  5527. 30. White on black we&amp;#8217;re two chevrons on a bed.&lt;br&gt;
  5528. 31. Black on white black body white shadow.&lt;br&gt;
  5529. 32. White on black chalk powder and charcoal.&lt;br&gt;
  5530. 33. Black on white we&amp;#8217;re both types of absence.&lt;br&gt;
  5531. 34. White on black we&amp;#8217;re infrared.&lt;br&gt;
  5532. 35. The black and white bookmark holds the place of a snapshot.&lt;br&gt;
  5533. 36. The snapshot is not a photo.&lt;br&gt;
  5534. 37. This is not a photo or a snapshot but has become again a mural.&lt;br&gt;
  5535. 38. That mural in a men&amp;#8217;s room that is not a men&amp;#8217;s room.&lt;br&gt;
  5536. 39. That men&amp;#8217;s room that is not a men&amp;#8217;s room plays home to a wooden table.&lt;br&gt;
  5537. 40. There may be a chair at that table.&lt;br&gt;
  5538. 41. There may be two chairs at that table.&lt;br&gt;
  5539. 42. There is a question sitting at that table but no words are said.&lt;br&gt;
  5540. 43. There are tears on the cheeks of the sitter(s).&lt;br&gt;
  5541. 44. Plaster and water marks and a hole in the wall.&lt;br&gt;
  5542. 45. There is a ghost in the room but the ghost is neither white nor black.&lt;br&gt;
  5543. 46. 5-27-89 reflects off a pair of glasses.&lt;br&gt;
  5544. 47. 5-27-10 is but days from the end of presence.&lt;br&gt;
  5545. 48. Paint flecks catch in the forearm&amp;#8217;s hair.&lt;br&gt;
  5546. 49. Thick outlines make the black blacker and the white walls whiter.&lt;br&gt;
  5547. 50. Erase the black outlines and the white walls still make negatives.&lt;br&gt;
  5548. 51. Those shapes are ghost shapes they are not floaters.&lt;br&gt;
  5549. 52. Ghosts shape the residual.&lt;br&gt;
  5550. 53. Shapes ghost the residual.&lt;br&gt;
  5551. 54. There are many possibilities for white for black.&lt;br&gt;
  5552. 55. Including the impossibility of their existence.&lt;br&gt;
  5553. 56. The gray shades reach out in both directions.&lt;br&gt;
  5554. 57. The gray shades hunt the black in the white the white in the black.&lt;br&gt;
  5555. 58. The gray shades that made the shadow city now haunt this impossible&amp;nbsp;Gotham.
  5556. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5557.            <summary type="html">
  5558.                &lt;p&gt;52. Ghosts shape the residual.&lt;br&gt;
  5559. 53. Shapes ghost the residual.&lt;br&gt;
  5560. 54. There are many possibilities for white for black.&lt;br&gt;
  5561. 55. Including the impossibility of their existence.&lt;br&gt;
  5562. 56. The gray shades reach out in both directions.&lt;br&gt;
  5563. 57. The gray shades hunt the black in the white the white in the black.&lt;br&gt;
  5564. 58. The gray shades that made the shadow city now haunt this impossible&amp;nbsp;Gotham.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5565.        </entry>
  5566.            <entry>
  5567.                                    <title type="html">Socialism with a Human Face</title>
  5568.            <author><name>Elizabeth Onusko
  5569. </name></author>
  5570.            <link href="/author/eonusko/socialism_with_a_human_face"/>
  5571.            <updated>2013-08-28T07:19:49Z</updated>
  5572.            <published>2013-08-28T07:19:49Z</published>
  5573.            <id></id>
  5574.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5575.                        term="meter"
  5576.                        label="Meter" />
  5577.                        <category   scheme=""
  5578.                        term="rhyme"
  5579.                        label="Rhyme" />
  5581.                        <content type="html">
  5582.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5584. &lt;h3&gt;Socialism with a Human&amp;nbsp;Face&lt;/h3&gt;
  5586. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Elizabeth&amp;nbsp;Onusko
  5587. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5589. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Miroslav&amp;nbsp;Slach&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  5591. &lt;p&gt;It looked like every person who’d been &lt;br&gt;
  5592. airbrushed from twenty years of official&amp;nbsp;photos,&lt;/p&gt;
  5594. &lt;p&gt;like an old man with an eye missing &lt;br&gt;
  5595. and blackened teeth, but&amp;nbsp;grinning,&lt;/p&gt;
  5597. &lt;p&gt;like the thirty politicians who hanged &lt;br&gt;
  5598. or gassed or shot themselves that&amp;nbsp;April,&lt;/p&gt;
  5600. &lt;p&gt;like a prisoner in Leopoldov undergoing &lt;br&gt;
  5601. an appendectomy without&amp;nbsp;anesthesia.&lt;/p&gt;
  5603. &lt;p&gt;It was a beautiful anomaly — an algal bloom &lt;br&gt;
  5604. masquerading as a full-skirted oak &lt;br&gt;
  5605. the people mistook for&amp;nbsp;pine.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5606.            <summary type="html">
  5607.                &lt;p&gt;like the thirty politicians who hanged &lt;br&gt;
  5608. or gassed or shot themselves that&amp;nbsp;April,&lt;/p&gt;
  5610. &lt;p&gt;like a prisoner in Leopoldov undergoing &lt;br&gt;
  5611. an appendectomy without&amp;nbsp;anesthesia.&lt;/p&gt;
  5613. &lt;p&gt;It was a beautiful anomaly — an algal bloom &lt;br&gt;
  5614. masquerading as a full-skirted oak &lt;br&gt;
  5615. the people mistook for&amp;nbsp;pine.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5616.        </entry>
  5617.            <entry>
  5618.                                    <title type="html">Fairy Tale</title>
  5619.            <author><name>Kazim Ali
  5620. </name></author>
  5621.            <link href="/author/kali/fairy_tale"/>
  5622.            <updated>2013-08-26T15:41:18Z</updated>
  5623.            <published>2013-08-26T15:41:18Z</published>
  5624.            <id></id>
  5625.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5626.                        term="meter"
  5627.                        label="Meter" />
  5628.                        <category   scheme=""
  5629.                        term="rhyme"
  5630.                        label="Rhyme" />
  5632.                        <content type="html">
  5633.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5635. &lt;h3&gt;Fairy&amp;nbsp;Tale&lt;/h3&gt;
  5637. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Kazim&amp;nbsp;Ali
  5638. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5640. &lt;p&gt;In the acres of garden before an empty house an amnesiac prince collects broken branches, prunes the fruit trees, plucks weeds from the rock&amp;nbsp;bed.&lt;/p&gt;
  5642. &lt;p&gt;He speaks a broken language of beach and Broadway and on the way to shore gets lost and finds himself in a cemetery at sunset, pink light on the&amp;nbsp;stones.&lt;/p&gt;
  5644. &lt;p&gt;He cannot read the inscriptions but kneels down at a cenotaph anyhow and recites the only prayers he can&amp;nbsp;remember.&lt;/p&gt;
  5646. &lt;p&gt;Why, when we wanted to speak to nothing but water, is he singing verses down into the stone hard earth in a town he has never belonged to, lost on his way to the&amp;nbsp;shore?&lt;/p&gt;
  5648. &lt;p&gt;If only he would learn to read the book of the sky, he would see the birds circling lazily around hot currents, which could only mean a large body of water is&amp;nbsp;near.&lt;/p&gt;
  5650. &lt;p&gt;The words are hollow in his mouth and he doesn’t know what he believes anyhow, whether bodies will again rise or if the aerial rumors of the gulls will lead him to the sea or if the numb tombstone in his mouth might indeed&amp;nbsp;speak.&lt;/p&gt;
  5652. &lt;p&gt;His scripture comes out sideways and his mispronunciation of the most sacred of syllables makes him always friendless. It’s nearly a party trick the way he opens his mouth and butterflies pour out, closes it again and the clock chimes, reminding him of being a young boy, coming home to an empty house, sure that he had been forgotten, that everyone had gone to the beach without&amp;nbsp;him.&lt;/p&gt;
  5654. &lt;p&gt;Sure that he would always be forgotten, that he would lie down in his grave and no ghost would come to fetch him or explain god or what was supposed to happen&amp;nbsp;next.&lt;/p&gt;
  5656. &lt;p&gt;That the grave would fill with dirt and he would rise on the boat of his body. That no one would recite sacred chapters for him, that he wouldn’t know how to take the rudder, that the sea was too&amp;nbsp;far.&lt;/p&gt;
  5658. &lt;p&gt;The boat now coming apart, his voice dwindling, hard as&amp;nbsp;stone.&lt;/p&gt;
  5660. &lt;p&gt;Finally he sees a bird winging down calling, “Find-me,&amp;nbsp;find-me!”&lt;/p&gt;
  5662. &lt;p&gt;But he doesn’t understand words, only sound, the shape of words, the tune to which they are&amp;nbsp;sung.&lt;/p&gt;
  5664. &lt;p&gt;All the sacred verses in the world are like birds wheeling in the sky, who knows where they&amp;nbsp;go.
  5666. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5667.            <summary type="html">
  5668.                &lt;p&gt;
  5669. He speaks a broken language of beach and Broadway and on the way to shore gets lost and finds himself in a cemetery at sunset, pink light on the&amp;nbsp;stones.
  5670. &lt;/p&gt;
  5672. &lt;p&gt;He cannot read the inscriptions but kneels down at a cenotaph anyhow and recites the only prayers he can&amp;nbsp;remember.&lt;/p&gt;
  5674. &lt;p&gt;Why, when we wanted to speak to nothing but water, is he singing verses down into the stone hard earth in a town he has never belonged to, lost on his way to the&amp;nbsp;shore?&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5675.        </entry>
  5676.            <entry>
  5677.                                    <title type="html">The Dodos</title>
  5678.            <author><name>Ed Shacklee
  5679. </name></author>
  5680.            <link href="/author/eshacklee/the_dodos"/>
  5681.            <updated>2013-08-23T16:23:19Z</updated>
  5682.            <published>2013-08-23T16:23:19Z</published>
  5683.            <id></id>
  5684.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5685.                        term="meter"
  5686.                        label="Meter" />
  5687.                        <category   scheme=""
  5688.                        term="rhyme"
  5689.                        label="Rhyme" />
  5691.                        <content type="html">
  5692.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5694. &lt;h3&gt;The&amp;nbsp;Dodos&lt;/h3&gt;
  5696. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Ed&amp;nbsp;Shacklee
  5697. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5699. &lt;p&gt;Like flamingos run to fat and dimly dumb,&lt;br&gt;
  5700. or commas on their sides, with little feet,&lt;br&gt;
  5701. I watched the dodos dodder down our street,&lt;br&gt;
  5702. an awkward sign the end of times has&amp;nbsp;come:&lt;/p&gt;
  5704. &lt;p&gt;or was it all a dream? They seemed to smile –&lt;br&gt;
  5705. their smiles were fixed in place; they fit right in,&lt;br&gt;
  5706. for cul-de-sacs are something like an isle,&lt;br&gt;
  5707. the way a stubby wing is like a&amp;nbsp;fin,&lt;/p&gt;
  5709. &lt;p&gt;the way a television’s like an eye,&lt;br&gt;
  5710. or suburbs are like towns, or clocks like time,&lt;br&gt;
  5711. or dodos are like angels waddling by,&lt;br&gt;
  5712. or Liberty’s the backside of a&amp;nbsp;dime. &lt;/p&gt;
  5714. &lt;p&gt;With no more thought than we they built their nests&lt;br&gt;
  5715. as dogs and cats prepared a proper greeting&lt;br&gt;
  5716. for those who quailed at questioning, and quests,&lt;br&gt;
  5717. and dully viewed their doom from comfy&amp;nbsp;seating. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5718.            <summary type="html">
  5719.                &lt;p&gt;for cul-de-sacs are something like an isle,&lt;br&gt;
  5720. the way a stubby wing is like a&amp;nbsp;fin,&lt;/p&gt;
  5722. &lt;p&gt;the way a television’s like an eye,&lt;br&gt;
  5723. or suburbs are like towns, or clocks like time,&lt;br&gt;
  5724. or dodos are like angels waddling by,&lt;br&gt;
  5725. or Liberty’s the backside of a&amp;nbsp;dime.
  5726. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5727.        </entry>
  5728.            <entry>
  5729.                                    <title type="html">I Sink to Sing</title>
  5730.            <author><name>Cally Conan-Davies
  5731. </name></author>
  5732.            <link href="/author/ccdavies/i_sink_to_sing"/>
  5733.            <updated>2013-08-21T06:05:08Z</updated>
  5734.            <published>2013-08-21T06:05:08Z</published>
  5735.            <id></id>
  5736.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5737.                        term="meter"
  5738.                        label="Meter" />
  5739.                        <category   scheme=""
  5740.                        term="rhyme"
  5741.                        label="Rhyme" />
  5743.                        <content type="html">
  5744.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5746. &lt;h3&gt;I Sink to&amp;nbsp;Sing&lt;/h3&gt;
  5748. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Cally&amp;nbsp;Conan-Davies
  5749. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5751. &lt;p&gt;cruel&amp;nbsp;clothes&lt;/p&gt;
  5753. &lt;p&gt;the sheer&amp;nbsp;sea&lt;/p&gt;
  5755. &lt;p&gt;rain&amp;nbsp;squall&lt;/p&gt;
  5757. &lt;p&gt;the cold&amp;nbsp;weed&lt;/p&gt;
  5759. &lt;p&gt;the steel&amp;nbsp;throat &lt;/p&gt;
  5761. &lt;p&gt;the storm&amp;nbsp;skin&lt;/p&gt;
  5763. &lt;p&gt;the black&amp;nbsp;wine&lt;/p&gt;
  5765. &lt;p&gt;salvaging&lt;/p&gt;
  5767. &lt;p&gt;the ghost&amp;nbsp;ship&lt;/p&gt;
  5769. &lt;p&gt;in speared&amp;nbsp;light&lt;/p&gt;
  5771. &lt;p&gt;the rough&amp;nbsp;sheet&lt;/p&gt;
  5773. &lt;p&gt;of salt the&amp;nbsp;sting&lt;/p&gt;
  5775. &lt;p&gt;the sound of&amp;nbsp;water&lt;/p&gt;
  5777. &lt;p&gt;rushing&amp;nbsp;in&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5778.            <summary type="html">
  5779.                &lt;p&gt;cruel&amp;nbsp;clothes&lt;/p&gt;
  5781. &lt;p&gt;the sheer&amp;nbsp;sea&lt;/p&gt;
  5783. &lt;p&gt;rain&amp;nbsp;squall&lt;/p&gt;
  5785. &lt;p&gt;the cold&amp;nbsp;weed&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5786.        </entry>
  5787.            <entry>
  5788.                                    <title type="html">Lake House</title>
  5789.            <author><name>Kazim Ali
  5790. </name></author>
  5791.            <link href="/author/kali/lake_house"/>
  5792.            <updated>2013-08-16T04:49:55Z</updated>
  5793.            <published>2013-08-16T04:49:55Z</published>
  5794.            <id></id>
  5795.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5796.                        term="meter"
  5797.                        label="Meter" />
  5798.                        <category   scheme=""
  5799.                        term="rhyme"
  5800.                        label="Rhyme" />
  5802.                        <content type="html">
  5803.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5805. &lt;h3&gt;Lake&amp;nbsp;House&lt;/h3&gt;
  5807. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Kazim&amp;nbsp;Ali
  5808. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5810. &lt;p&gt;
  5811. Now to praise utterly unceasing&lt;br&gt;
  5812. now to shadow and&amp;nbsp;learn&lt;/p&gt;
  5814. &lt;p&gt;
  5815. Flickering pulse   last chapter sent&lt;br&gt;
  5816. Never to touch     be&amp;nbsp;shorn&lt;/p&gt;
  5818. &lt;p&gt;
  5819. Full hour spent spelling my house&lt;br&gt;
  5820. by web to thread air&amp;nbsp;blue&lt;/p&gt;
  5822. &lt;p&gt;
  5823. By cover of night tree to tree&lt;br&gt;
  5824. strung any place&amp;nbsp;through&lt;/p&gt;
  5826. &lt;p&gt;
  5827. Seen clear sun      cold lake soul&lt;br&gt;
  5828. found any place&amp;nbsp;home&lt;/p&gt;
  5830. &lt;p&gt;
  5831. Now done under           woven to&amp;nbsp;spill&lt;/p&gt;
  5833. &lt;p&gt;
  5834. Blue night lake&amp;nbsp;foal
  5836. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5837.            <summary type="html">
  5838.                &lt;p&gt;
  5839. By cover of night tree to tree&lt;br&gt;
  5840. strung any place&amp;nbsp;through&lt;/p&gt;
  5842. &lt;p&gt;
  5843. Seen clear sun      cold lake soul&lt;br&gt;
  5844. found any place&amp;nbsp;home&lt;/p&gt;
  5846. &lt;p&gt;
  5847. Now done under           woven to&amp;nbsp;spill&lt;/p&gt;
  5849. &lt;p&gt;
  5850. Blue night lake&amp;nbsp;foal
  5851. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5852.        </entry>
  5853.            <entry>
  5854.                                    <title type="html">Interview with Joey De Jesus</title>
  5855.            <author><name>Kazim Ali
  5856. </name></author>
  5857.            <link href="/author/kali/interview_by_joey_de_jesus"/>
  5858.            <updated>2013-08-16T04:26:26Z</updated>
  5859.            <published>2013-08-16T04:26:26Z</published>
  5860.            <id></id>
  5861.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5862.                        term="namerica"
  5863.                        label="Namerica" />
  5865.                        <content type="html">
  5866.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5868. &lt;h3&gt;Interview with Joey De&amp;nbsp;Jesus&lt;/h3&gt;
  5870. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Kazim&amp;nbsp;Ali
  5871. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5873. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Joey De Jesus:&lt;/b&gt; Your latest book, &lt;i&gt;Sky Ward&lt;/i&gt;, was published earlier this year. It is organized loosely around a revision of the Icarus myth. I am very curious as to why, in your rewriting of that myth, you chose for Icarus to survive his&amp;nbsp;fall.&lt;/p&gt;
  5875. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kazim Ali:&lt;/b&gt; I never planned for him to survive the fall. The book was to end with the poem &amp;#8220;Follower&amp;#8221; which ends in mid-sentence; the idea was that Icarus was in the moment of falling at the end of the book—sort of a reverse homage to &lt;i&gt;Paradise Lost&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;
  5877. &lt;p&gt;I gave a reading where I confessed to the audience that I didn&amp;#8217;t know how to end the sequence perhaps because I myself, the disobedient son, was still trying to reconcile, still trying to stop from falling. One of the people at the reader said to me, &amp;#8220;You should write a poem where he is falling and looking up at the feathers floating&amp;nbsp;away.&amp;#8221;&lt;/p&gt;
  5879. &lt;p&gt;But after I completed &amp;#8220;The Promise of Blue,&amp;#8221; which ends with the Greg/Icarus figure walking along the beach, having survived his fall from the sky, I realized that if &lt;i&gt;I&lt;/i&gt; could survive then perhaps Icarus may have a life after his plunge in the water after all. The trick was how could he have survived since we know his wings melted from his back? And what must he have thought falling, watching them flutter away? So I wrote the poem&amp;nbsp;&amp;#8220;Confession.&amp;#8221;&lt;/p&gt;
  5881. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;JDJ&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; When I heard you read for the Poetry Project a few months ago, you read &amp;#8220;The Wrestler&amp;#8221; and &amp;#8220;The Promise of Blue&amp;#8221; from &lt;i&gt;Sky Ward&lt;/i&gt;, and shared with us the story behind how these poems came to be and how they&amp;#8217;ve been received. Would you mind repeating those stories for the &lt;i&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KIN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;audience?&lt;/p&gt;
  5883. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; I was asked in the summer of 2012 by &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;NPR&lt;/span&gt; to participate in what they were calling the &amp;#8220;Poetry Games.&amp;#8221; They were asking one poet from each continent to write a poem inspired by an Olympic sport. At the time I was deep in the end motions of revising my book &lt;i&gt;Sky Ward&lt;/i&gt; which takes as its central recurring metaphor the myth of Icarus, the boy who fell from the sky, the disobedient sun who flew too close to Glory for his father&amp;#8217;s&amp;nbsp;comfort.&lt;/p&gt;
  5885. &lt;p&gt;I leapt at the chance of doing the assignment because the myth of Icarus is very personal to me and I needed some relief from it. When I thought of writing about a sport or athlete I was immediately attracted to Greg Louganis, who I find very inspiration as someone who surmounted deep odds, a person of color, someone who cares for animals and who practices astanga yoga. Little did I know that my muse let me to Greg&amp;#8217;s iconic moment, when he hit his head on the diving board and fell into the&amp;nbsp;water.&lt;/p&gt;
  5887. &lt;p&gt;So Icarus&amp;nbsp;again.&lt;/p&gt;
  5889. &lt;p&gt;As it turned out, another poet, one from Europe, mentions Greg&amp;#8217;s name in his poem and so the producer told me I couldn&amp;#8217;t use mine. If I still wanted to participate, they told me, I would have to do another poem in three days. There&amp;#8217;s nothing like a little pressure to get you going. I fell heavily back onto the architecture of form. Of course everyone knows how much easier it is to write a poem in form and meter and I was able to do it in three days. That poem was &amp;#8220;The&amp;nbsp;Wrestler.&amp;#8221;&lt;/p&gt;
  5891. &lt;p&gt;It&amp;#8217;s had quite a life—it&amp;#8217;s been reprinted several times in sports—related anthologies, it was printed on baseball cards and handed out at games by a poetry organization in Florida, it was even featured on the website of a Mixed Martial Arts training academy along with a commentary by the director of the school saying how fully I had captured the spirit of sports-combat and martial arts. Of course what I was thinking of when I wrote was sort of the young gay man&amp;#8217;s answer to Marie Howe&amp;#8217;s poem &amp;#8220;Practicing.&amp;#8221; If you know what I&amp;nbsp;mean.&lt;/p&gt;
  5893. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;JDJ&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Would you elaborate on the point you&amp;#8217;ve made, that &amp;#8220;everyone knows how much easier it is to write a poem in form and&amp;nbsp;meter&amp;#8221;?
  5895. &lt;/p&gt;
  5897. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; When you begin writing a poem into space, formal verse gives you a structure and architecture for that poem; to me it seems the real work of a writer is discovering within a poem its rules and regulations, the channels for its energy. Some forms—the sonnet, the ghazal, haiku—seem to transcend linguistic and cultural origins and become of global significance and usefulness in many languages. Others, for example sapphic stanzas, seem valuable precisely because they don&amp;#8217;t translate as well so they force a poet writing in English, for example, to work three times as hard to match the rhythms of English into this dactylic-trochaic structure that would be much easier to achieve in Sappho&amp;#8217;s Greek. But the reason I think writing formal verse is easier in general to write than free verse is that it&amp;#8217;s harder: it makes the poet work harder. It is easier to be lazy in free verse, easier not to pay attention to either music or meaning, easier to throw an improperly balanced pot, as it&amp;nbsp;were.&lt;/p&gt;
  5899. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;JDJ&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: Why did you choose to lead the collection with &amp;#8220;Journey to Providence&amp;#8221;? Also, can you speak about its formation—tercets separated by large blocks of white space. I wonder how the poem found itself in this form and if the sound play (anastrophe, repetition, internal rhyme etc&amp;#8230;) played into that. Can you speak to how the white space functions in this&amp;nbsp;piece?&lt;/p&gt;
  5901. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kazim Ali:&lt;/b&gt; This was a difficult poem. I had two homes that I was shuttling between in the 2005-2006 academic year. That summer I traveled a lot, including to my sister&amp;#8217;s wedding. All along I had been writing poems long hand on loose leaf paper that I kept in a folder. At some point I lost the folder. I was devastated of course but as a writer you just turn the page and write more. At some point, back at home in the Bronx I decided to try to write from memory as much as I could remember of that lost book. Those scraps became the heart of &amp;#8220;Journey to&amp;nbsp;Providence.&amp;#8221;&lt;/p&gt;
  5903. &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;dquo&#34;&gt;&amp;#8220;&lt;/span&gt;Providence&amp;#8221; was both the abstract concept but also the actual&amp;nbsp;city.&lt;/p&gt;
  5905. &lt;p&gt;My idea was to write short lyrics that a person could memorize. That each of them together would form the poem&amp;#8217;s sensibility. That the poem wouldn&amp;#8217;t be &amp;#8220;about&amp;#8221; something, but be the journey itself. So it led me along. I hadn&amp;#8217;t intended for it to open the book at all but it insisted on that&amp;nbsp;place.&lt;/p&gt;
  5907. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;JDJ&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Tell me about &amp;#8220;Lake House,&amp;#8221; the first poem of yours to be published at &lt;i&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KIN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;. It reads to me like an incantation: each image listed is an image conjured and seemingly offered to something unnameable, the &amp;#8220;utterly unceasing.&amp;#8221; I don&amp;#8217;t quite think I&amp;#8217;d ever read a poem of yours like this one before. I guess this is a long-winded way of asking how writing prayer has changed for you, and how is your approach different in this book from your previous&amp;nbsp;ones.&lt;/p&gt;
  5909. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kazim Ali:&lt;/b&gt; &amp;#8220;Lake House&amp;#8221; came from complete music, a reading of &lt;i&gt;Sappho&amp;#8217;s Gymnasium&lt;/i&gt;, a collaborative book by T Begley and Olga Broumas, one of my ur-texts in the art of poetry. I was working in sound and rhythm as well, reading a lot of Emily Dickinson (as always) and Susan Howe (who borrows heavily from Dickinsonian prosody, at least in &lt;i&gt;Europe of Trusts&lt;/i&gt;). Too, I was thinking about Orthodox communities in New York where there is rumor that they have strung thread around certain lamp posts to make a &amp;#8220;house,&amp;#8221; so they can wander freely during the Sabbath. I wasn&amp;#8217;t so interested in the &amp;#8220;bending&amp;#8221; of rules as a I was in the notion that &amp;#8220;home&amp;#8221; is an empty space and uncontainable. In that sense it must be the opposite of, not a synonym for,&amp;nbsp;&amp;#8220;house.&amp;#8221;
  5911. &lt;/p&gt;
  5913. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;JDJ&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; &amp;#8220;Bright Felon Alternate Ending&amp;#8221; might be my favorite poem in the collection; I absolutely love the imagery and the ending. I am curious if you can articulate what the imperative was for you to write this poem and what it accomplishes that you feel &lt;i&gt;Bright Felon&lt;/i&gt;, your book of essays, didn&amp;#8217;t, or&amp;nbsp;couldn&amp;#8217;t.&lt;/p&gt;
  5915. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Well, long after &lt;i&gt;Bright Felon&lt;/i&gt; was completed and even published I kept writing it. I wanted to imagine a different ending, one where the &amp;#8220;convicted son&amp;#8221; won, meaning was welcomed back into his family home despite what the social structure around the parents was&amp;nbsp;saying.&lt;/p&gt;
  5917. &lt;p&gt;The father in &lt;i&gt;Sky Ward&lt;/i&gt; is twice described as being &amp;#8220;furious,&amp;#8221; first in the poem &amp;#8220;The Escape,&amp;#8221; and secondly in this poem. But in each, even though he is &amp;#8220;furious&amp;#8221; he is still trying to find and harbor his lost son. It&amp;#8217;s the closest thing to the truth that I could bear at the moment to&amp;nbsp;tell.&lt;/p&gt;
  5919. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Bright Felon&lt;/i&gt; (and &lt;i&gt;Sky Ward&lt;/i&gt;, too, for that matter) are both very earnest and serious books. I borrowed the language of &lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;DVD&lt;/span&gt; production— &amp;#8220;alternate ending,&amp;#8221; &amp;#8220;deleted scenes,&amp;#8221; the &amp;#8220;notes on the screenplay,&amp;#8221; etc— partially as a way of leavening that, allowing myself to see the humor in all the high drama. Of course &amp;#8220;Alternate Ending&amp;#8221; does not come off as funny at all, but very bittersweet; the &amp;#8220;alternate ending&amp;#8221; of course is the one that doesn&amp;#8217;t make the final cut, it&amp;#8217;s the ending that doesn&amp;#8217;t&amp;nbsp;happen.&lt;/p&gt;
  5921. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;JDJ&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Have you continued writing &lt;i&gt;Sky Ward&lt;/i&gt; in the same way you&amp;#8217;ve continued to write &lt;i&gt;Bright Felon&lt;/i&gt; after its publication?  If so, has it manifested in revised poems or new pieces? Your poem &amp;#8220;Hymn&amp;#8221; answers the last line in the poem &amp;#8220;Confession&amp;#8221; which reads &amp;#8220;I swear I&amp;#8217;ll find some place on this earth that knows me&amp;#8221; and, I think in many ways, finishes the book, but I found it so peculiar that you ended the collection with a dash, insinuating that this story of Icarus/the speaker continues in the&amp;nbsp;world.&lt;/p&gt;
  5923. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Yes, I continued writing poems about Icarus, Icarus after his fall, after his self-declaration of identity and strength that comes in &amp;#8220;Confession.&amp;#8221; But I chose only two to include in the book— there&amp;#8217;s &amp;#8220;Promise of Blue,&amp;#8221; which revisits him many years after the crisis, important I think because our lives are not lived in crisis, but in those long boring moments in between. &amp;#8220;Hymn&amp;#8221; was important for me to include because no matter how much strength it took for Icarus to own his own life, to claim himself, he is still, inside, a boy who misses his father, a boy who wonders why couldn&amp;#8217;t he have had a different kind of life where everyone would have stayed close and nothing would have broken? He realizes the suffering, the agony, all of it, belongs to him, and as such as&amp;nbsp;precious.&lt;/p&gt;
  5925. &lt;p&gt;It&amp;#8217;s not a fun realization. Ending the book on &amp;#8220;Confession&amp;#8221; would have been more empowering, more powerful itself, and of course, completely&amp;nbsp;false.&lt;/p&gt;
  5927. &lt;p&gt;There is at least one Icarus piece, a brief prose essay called &amp;#8220;Sitting at Slow Train After Submitting the Final Manuscript of &lt;i&gt;Sky Ward&lt;/i&gt;,&amp;#8221; which is more of a meta-meditation on writing the whole book. One can feel bereft after you have poured everything into a book. Sometimes you are asked &amp;#8220;How do you know when you have finished a book of poetry?&amp;#8221; One answer is: when you think you are never going to be able to write anything ever&amp;nbsp;again.&lt;/p&gt;
  5929. &lt;p&gt;Other poems, including &amp;#8220;The Museum of Flight,&amp;#8221; and one called &amp;#8220;Falcon,&amp;#8221; I am currently including in my next poetry manuscript. &amp;#8220;The Museum of Flight&amp;#8221; has been published on-line, so it is out there in the world&amp;nbsp;already.&lt;/p&gt;
  5931. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;JDJ&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Why do you think you are so drawn to the couplet? And how do you think your employment of it has changed over your past three collections of poetry? As a technique, what possibilities do you believe it has it presented you with? Your poem &amp;#8220;Lake Animal You&amp;#8221; just reads so differently to me than, say, &amp;#8220;Gallery&amp;#8221; or &amp;#8220;Renunciation&amp;#8221; from &lt;i&gt;The Far Mosque&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;
  5933. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; The couplet has stayed with me from the very beginning when a friend, Kythe Heller, told me about the Delphic oracles speaking in disjunctive couplets where the second line would answer back or comment in some way on the first line. That mechanism of poetry seemed so appropriate and pure for my own method of questioning. I think it is has become a little more musical than philosophical for me over the years, but sound and sense are not&amp;nbsp;unrelated.&lt;/p&gt;
  5935. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;JDJ&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; We&amp;#8217;ve talked a lot about games and poetry. What sort of poetry games do you play to generate your own writing, and what is a fun writing assignment you give to your students at&amp;nbsp;Oberlin?&lt;/p&gt;
  5937. &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;KA&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; Poetry games and exercises are a little bit the bane of my existence. Conceptually/theoretically I am interested in them—I love reading Harryette Mullen&amp;#8217;s &lt;i&gt;Sleeping with the Dictionary&lt;/i&gt;, and often use it in my classes. And there have been isolated incidences over the years when I have used an exercise (usually in a group) to create something that eventually led to a&amp;nbsp;poem.&lt;/p&gt;
  5939. &lt;p&gt;But mostly, writing an excercise in a group or classroom situation turns writing &amp;#8220;social&amp;#8221; and I&amp;#8217;ve too much an idea of it as a personal and individual practice. I understand its role in education or in learning the ropes of poetry but you can&amp;#8217;t use them to sail the ship, I don&amp;#8217;t think. Recently I was asked to contribute an exercise to an anthology of such exercises  and I wrote a six-week syllabus for a semester on silence which focused on physical silences on the page, things we are silent about, how silence/pauses can be used for musical effect in a poetic line and finally, how certain vowels and consonant sounds create silences and resonances in the physical human body&amp;nbsp;itself.&lt;/p&gt;
  5941. &lt;p&gt;A writing exercise should do what physical exercise does: in the case of endurance it helps to increase your capacity (come into class next week with 50 lines of trochaic tetrameter) or else in the case of strength exercise, it should work you to failure (Bhanu Kapil&amp;#8217;s question: &amp;#8220;Who is responsible for the suffering of your mother?&amp;#8221;&amp;nbsp;etc.).&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  5942.            <summary type="html">
  5943.                &lt;p&gt;
  5944. [The real work is discovering a poem&amp;#8217;s] rules and regulations, the channels for its energy. Some forms—[sonnet, ghazal, haiku]—seem to transcend linguistic and cultural origins…. Others [such as] sapphic stanzas [are valuable &lt;b&gt;because&lt;/b&gt;] they don&amp;#8217;t translate as well so they force a poet writing in [English] to work three times as hard to match those [rhythms] into this dactylic-trochaic structure that would be much easier to achieve in Sappho&amp;#8217;s Greek. [I think] writing formal verse is easier in general than free verse [&lt;b&gt;because it&amp;#8217;s harder&lt;/b&gt;]: it makes the poet work harder. It is easier to be lazy in free verse, easier not to pay attention to either music or meaning, easier to throw an improperly balanced&amp;nbsp;pot….&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  5945.        </entry>
  5946.            <entry>
  5947.                                    <title type="html">Freedom&#39;s Form: Robert Duncan&#39;s &#34;My Mother Would Be a Falconress&#34; and the Metrical Code</title>
  5948.            <author><name>David Katz
  5949. </name></author>
  5950.            <link href="/author/dkatz/freedom_s_form_robert_duncan"/>
  5951.            <updated>2013-08-05T04:28:26Z</updated>
  5952.            <published>2013-08-05T04:28:26Z</published>
  5953.            <id></id>
  5954.                                    <category   scheme=""
  5955.                        term="criticism"
  5956.                        label="Criticism" />
  5958.                        <content type="html">
  5959.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  5961. &lt;h3&gt;Freedom&amp;#8217;s Form: Robert Duncan&amp;#8217;s &amp;#8220;My Mother Would Be a Falconress&amp;#8221; and the Metrical&amp;nbsp;Code&lt;/h3&gt;
  5963. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;David&amp;nbsp;Katz
  5964. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  5966. &lt;p&gt;Among the American poets who wrote free verse from the 1950s through the 1980s, Robert Duncan is uniquely the musician. Unlike his friends Robert Creeley, Charles Olson, and Denise Levertov, he did not compose his verse as if, as Creeley put it, “form is never more than an extension of content.” Although he wrote poems strongly critical of American institutions, his prosody was not forged in the cauldron of political and social protest in the way that Allen Ginsberg’s and Amiri Baraka’s were, and, arguably, Adrienne Rich’s came to&amp;nbsp;be.&lt;/p&gt;
  5968. &lt;p&gt;No, Duncan differs from them all in the quality of his poetic ear and his search for a means of poetic composition that approached that of music.  Listen closely to these two readings of “My Mother Would Be a&amp;nbsp;Falconress.”&lt;/p&gt;
  5970. &lt;ul&gt;
  5971. &lt;li&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href=&#34;;&gt;Duncan reading&amp;nbsp;1&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
  5973. &lt;li&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href=&#34;;&gt;Duncan reading&amp;nbsp;2&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
  5974. &lt;/ul&gt;
  5976. &lt;p&gt;It’s as if you’ve entered an echo chamber. The poet repeats words like “blood,” “hood,” “mother,” “falcon,” and “little” with differing emphases. He repeats and varies lines and phrases in a chant-like way that gathers aural force by referring backwards. In 1983, he told a class that he taught on the poem at the University of Maine that: “My poetry has been described as ‘free verse written without rhyme or measure. But this is just the contrary to where my poetry goes.” Instead, he sought “a feeling of the internality of a piece…If you recognize that you&amp;#8217;ve heard a sound before (in a poem), you&amp;#8217;ll have the feeling that you expected that&amp;nbsp;sound.”&lt;/p&gt;
  5978. &lt;p&gt;Although “Falconress” seems to take form as it goes along, the density of its repetition marks it as highly formal—though not in the way of poems composed in preconceived meters. Instead,  the ghosts of various meters appear and disappear. There are highly stressed, alliterative, Anglo-Saxon-like lines  (“bring back / from the blue of the sky to her, bleeding, a prize&amp;#8221;) ; iambics  (“I tread her wrist and wear the hood”); and abounding anapests  (“For she has muffled my dreams in the hood she has made me”).  And just as they make a music within the poem itself, these bits of meter resonate with other verse—the witches’ chants in Macbeth, say, the vigorous anapests of Robert Browning, or Hopkins’s “The Windhover”&amp;#8212;which is, after all, a&amp;nbsp;falcon.&lt;/p&gt;
  5980. &lt;p&gt;Duncan’s  tendency to echo past cadences springs directly from that of Ezra Pound. But Duncan turns his master’s political swords to ploughshares. Unlike the fascist, belligerent Pound, Duncan was a peace-loving anarchist.  Like many other poets of the turbulent 1960s, Duncan wrote poems against the Vietnam War and stood in clear alignment with the Black, Gay, and Women’s Liberation&amp;nbsp;movements.&lt;/p&gt;
  5982. &lt;p&gt;Despite those allegiances, his view of how poetry should interact with politics was complex. This we can see in his revision of the word “gerfalcon”—a species of the bird—to “gay falcon” in the second line of the poem.  Duncan said he made the change in light of “the new homosexual liberation front.”  But he also had a broader cultural meaning in mind for “gay.” “Poetry owns this word and eventually we will have to be sure that it again means what it meant, which is ‘free,’&amp;#8221; he&amp;nbsp;said.&lt;/p&gt;
  5984. &lt;p&gt;The tensions between Duncan’s Medievalism and his Modernism, between gay and straight life, and between the liberation movements and a broader humanism are dramatized in the rhythms of  his poetry. Further, the way his meters tell a story in “My Mother Would Be a Falconress” and in his verse overall make them excellent candidates for illumination by Annie Finch’s Metrical Code. Indeed, the unique musicality of his work demands a place for it in the history of American free verse that Finch narrates in &lt;i&gt;The Ghost of Meter&lt;/i&gt;.  By Duncan’s time, American free verse had resolved much of the struggle between iambic and trisyllabic rhythms that Finch unearths particularly in the work of Emily Dickinson. Indeed, at least through the 1980s, free verse became so dominant among American poets that the struggle could seem&amp;nbsp;quaint.&lt;/p&gt;
  5986. &lt;p&gt;Except in Duncan’s work. Traces of the conflict in Dickinson’s verse pitting tetrameters derived from the church hymnal against the culturally patriarchal pentameters of English poetry—can be found in &amp;#8220;Falconress.&amp;#8221; By my count, there are 36 tetrameter lines and 18 pentameter lines, with the rest ranging between dimeter and&amp;nbsp;octameter.&lt;/p&gt;
  5988. &lt;p&gt;Further, Duncan&amp;#8217;s struggle to resolve his antinomies shows up in a metrical tension like that which Finch finds in Dickinson. He best reveals his musicianship in lines in which he plays trisyllabic and iambic meters off against each other. “My mother would &lt;i&gt;be&lt;/i&gt; a falconress, ” the poem starts, with a strong beat in the second foot of an iambic tetrameter line. “And I,” the next line begins, with another strong beat that carries over and strengthens the iambic rhythm hovering in the relatively weak final stress of “falcon&lt;b&gt;ress&lt;/b&gt;.” Balancing the iambic mother-falconress is “her gay &lt;b&gt;fal&lt;/b&gt;con,” rendered as an anapest in the second&amp;nbsp;foot.&lt;/p&gt;
  5990. &lt;p&gt;For their part, the poem’s anapests embody a vigor matching the outward and upward movement of the falcon’s quest for freedom, as in “flying &lt;i&gt;up&lt;/i&gt;/to the &lt;i&gt;curb&lt;/i&gt;/of my &lt;i&gt;heart&lt;/i&gt;/from her &lt;i&gt;heart&lt;/i&gt;…”  It’s a meter that Browning uses in “How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix” to mimic a horse’s gait:  “I sprang to the &lt;i&gt;stir&lt;/i&gt;rup, and &lt;i&gt;Jor&lt;/i&gt;is, and &lt;i&gt;he&lt;/i&gt;; / I galloped, Dirck &lt;i&gt;gall&lt;/i&gt;oped, we &lt;i&gt;gall&lt;/i&gt;oped all three.” Duncan’s anapests, however, embody emotion as well as motion. He can use them, for example, to dramatize the violence of the conflict between his antagonists : “I tear/at her &lt;i&gt;wrist&lt;/i&gt;/with my &lt;i&gt;beak&lt;/i&gt;/to draw &lt;i&gt;blood&lt;/i&gt;…&lt;/p&gt;
  5992. &lt;p&gt;But if anapests can enact youthful rebellion, its iambs can evoke the comfort of authority.  They can provide a release of tension, suggesting the sense of relief a child might feel when its frightening new impulses are restrained by a parent. We can hear this soothing iambic music in the fourth&amp;nbsp;stanza:&lt;/p&gt;
  5994. &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;I tread my mother&amp;#8217;s wrist and would draw blood.&lt;br&gt;
  5995. Behind the little hood my eyes are hooded.&lt;br&gt;
  5996. I have gone back into my hooded silence,&lt;br&gt;
  5997. talking to myself and dropping off to&amp;nbsp;sleep.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
  5999. &lt;p&gt;One stanza later, a regular tetrameter line calms the anxiety triggered by the boundless freedom promised by a bird’s ability to fly: “She draws a limit to my flight.”  Iambs can thus represent a coming to ground for Duncan.  In a single line of perfectly regular iambic pentameter, “It seemed my human soul went down in flames,” this free-verse poet portrays a Miltonic Fall with masterful control and detachment. This is the climax of the poem, dramatizing how sublime ultimate freedom can seem — and how terrifying its mortal consequences inevitably&amp;nbsp;are.&lt;/p&gt;
  6001. &lt;p&gt;If, as Finch tells us, meter in a free verse poem “can function like a language, carrying different information at different points in a poem,” what does the metrical language of “My Mother Would Be a Falconress” tell us? One thing it certainly tells us is that traditional meters can be broken up and juxtaposed in non-traditional ways that nonetheless resonate with the best verse of the past. Another is that free and formal verse may not be the polar opposites they are too often taken to be. Rather, in the hands of a master like Duncan, a variable form can make a music out of freedom, and freedom can extend the scope of&amp;nbsp;form.
  6002. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6003.            <summary type="html">
  6004.                &lt;p&gt;Among the American poets who wrote free verse from the 1950s through the 1980s, Robert Duncan is uniquely the&amp;nbsp;musician.
  6005. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6006.        </entry>
  6007.            <entry>
  6008.                                    <title type="html">Hip Hop Found Poem</title>
  6009.            <author><name>Erica Dawson
  6010. </name></author>
  6011.            <link href="/author/edawson/hip_hop_found_poem"/>
  6012.            <updated>2013-07-20T18:10:09Z</updated>
  6013.            <published>2013-07-20T18:10:09Z</published>
  6014.            <id></id>
  6015.                                    <category   scheme=""
  6016.                        term="meter"
  6017.                        label="Meter" />
  6018.                        <category   scheme=""
  6019.                        term="rhyme"
  6020.                        label="Rhyme" />
  6022.                        <content type="html">
  6023.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  6025. &lt;h3&gt;Hip Hop Found&amp;nbsp;Poem&lt;/h3&gt;
  6027. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Erica&amp;nbsp;Dawson
  6028. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  6030. &lt;p&gt;&lt;font size=&#34;2&#34;&gt;&lt;i&gt;for Trayvon Martin&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6032. &lt;p&gt;
  6033. Aim for the sky. Cock the shit and&amp;nbsp;shoot.&lt;/p&gt;
  6035. &lt;p&gt;The block is. Hot, the block is hot&lt;br&gt;
  6036. Ashes to ashes, dust to&amp;#8230; Dust&lt;br&gt;
  6037. It. Watch it. Turn it. Leave it.&lt;br&gt;&amp;nbsp;                                                 Stop.&lt;/p&gt;
  6039. &lt;p&gt;We do this. For the street, we do&lt;br&gt;
  6040. &amp;#8220;Either love me or leave me&amp;nbsp;alone.&amp;#8221;&lt;/p&gt;
  6042. &lt;p&gt;The whole world loves it when you&amp;nbsp;don&amp;#8217;t.&lt;/p&gt;
  6044. &lt;p&gt;But, Amen, you know this. God bless&lt;br&gt;
  6045. Your arms too short to box with&amp;nbsp;God.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6046.            <summary type="html">
  6047.                &lt;p&gt;Aim for the sky. Cock the shit and&amp;nbsp;shoot.&lt;/p&gt;
  6049. &lt;p&gt;The block is. Hot, the block is hot&lt;br&gt;
  6050. Ashes to ashes, dust to&amp;#8230; Dust&lt;br&gt;
  6051. It. Watch it. Turn it. Leave&amp;nbsp;it.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6052.        </entry>
  6053.            <entry>
  6054.                                    <title type="html">The Midnight Wife</title>
  6055.            <author><name>Cally Conan-Davies
  6056. </name></author>
  6057.            <link href="/author/ccdavies/the_midnight_wife"/>
  6058.            <updated>2013-07-19T16:56:46Z</updated>
  6059.            <published>2013-07-19T16:56:46Z</published>
  6060.            <id></id>
  6061.                                    <category   scheme=""
  6062.                        term="meter"
  6063.                        label="Meter" />
  6064.                        <category   scheme=""
  6065.                        term="rhyme"
  6066.                        label="Rhyme" />
  6068.                        <content type="html">
  6069.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  6071. &lt;h3&gt;The Midnight&amp;nbsp;Wife&lt;/h3&gt;
  6073. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Cally&amp;nbsp;Conan-Davies
  6074. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  6076. &lt;p&gt;The sea beyond her room, the sky, the wind&lt;br&gt;
  6077. shivering the window glass with rain,&lt;br&gt;
  6078. the stoic fir tree letting go a limb&lt;br&gt;
  6079. while greener branches tremble,&amp;nbsp;weathering&lt;/p&gt;
  6081. &lt;p&gt;are all composed of greyscale agonies,&lt;br&gt;
  6082. of all the unsaid things diminishing&lt;br&gt;
  6083. and then snatched up by gulls and pulled through air&lt;br&gt;
  6084. again. Again, old accusations&amp;nbsp;hover,&lt;/p&gt;
  6086. &lt;p&gt;unfettered by the frets of wood and water,&lt;br&gt;
  6087. bending their wings, shadowing the earth,&lt;br&gt;
  6088. while other regions warm to early spring&lt;br&gt;
  6089. bursting in with zinnias and&amp;nbsp;nasturtiums,&lt;/p&gt;
  6091. &lt;p&gt;the only flowers she ever grew from seed…&lt;br&gt;
  6092. except for these she picks until they&amp;nbsp;bleed.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6093.            <summary type="html">
  6094.                &lt;p&gt;The sea beyond her room, the sky, the wind&lt;br&gt;
  6095. shivering the window glass with rain,&lt;br&gt;
  6096. the stoic fir tree letting go a limb&lt;br&gt;
  6097. while greener branches tremble,&amp;nbsp;weathering&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6098.        </entry>
  6099.            <entry>
  6100.                                    <title type="html">First Response</title>
  6101.            <author><name>Molly Sutton Kiefer
  6102. </name></author>
  6103.            <link href="/author/mskiefer/first_response"/>
  6104.            <updated>2013-07-18T04:10:20Z</updated>
  6105.            <published>2013-07-18T04:10:20Z</published>
  6106.            <id></id>
  6107.                                    <category   scheme=""
  6108.                        term="meter"
  6109.                        label="Meter" />
  6110.                        <category   scheme=""
  6111.                        term="rhyme"
  6112.                        label="Rhyme" />
  6114.                        <content type="html">
  6115.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  6117. &lt;h3&gt;First&amp;nbsp;Response&lt;/h3&gt;
  6119. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Molly Sutton&amp;nbsp;Kiefer
  6120. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  6122. &lt;p&gt;
  6123. You aren&amp;#8217;t crated, egg-basket, your shells&lt;br&gt;
  6124. chipped like flint. There are a dozen wands&lt;br&gt;
  6125. bound for the dump, for you, curiosities,&lt;br&gt;
  6126. me hunched on the bathroom floor. I can feel you,&lt;br&gt;
  6127. slight bump, right ovary, competition,&lt;br&gt;
  6128. compensation. There&amp;#8217;s a ring around my iris,&lt;br&gt;
  6129. deep sleep when winter&amp;#8217;s over; equinox is only&lt;br&gt;
  6130. a few days away. I wonder if I will be rounder then,&lt;br&gt;
  6131. not rounder because of the disease,&lt;br&gt;
  6132. but rounder because when I say &lt;i&gt;you&lt;/i&gt;, I mean something,&lt;br&gt;
  6133. I mean: &lt;i&gt;someone is coming&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6134.            <summary type="html">
  6135.                &lt;p&gt;You aren&amp;#8217;t crated, egg-basket, your shells&lt;br&gt;
  6136. chipped like flint. There are a dozen wands&lt;br&gt;
  6137. bound for the dump, for you, curiosities,&lt;br&gt;
  6138. me hunched on the bathroom floor. I can feel you,&lt;br&gt;
  6139. slight bump, right ovary, competition,&lt;br&gt;&amp;nbsp;compensation.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6140.        </entry>
  6141.            <entry>
  6142.                                    <title type="html">Eastern Day</title>
  6143.            <author><name>Anna Evans
  6144. </name></author>
  6145.            <link href="/author/aevans/eastern_day"/>
  6146.            <updated>2013-07-16T22:56:30Z</updated>
  6147.            <published>2013-07-16T22:56:30Z</published>
  6148.            <id></id>
  6149.                                    <category   scheme=""
  6150.                        term="meter"
  6151.                        label="Meter" />
  6152.                        <category   scheme=""
  6153.                        term="rhyme"
  6154.                        label="Rhyme" />
  6155.                        <category   scheme=""
  6156.                        term="translation"
  6157.                        label="Translation" />
  6158.                        <category   scheme=""
  6159.                        term="french"
  6160.                        label="French" />
  6162.                        <content type="html">
  6163.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  6165. &lt;h3&gt;Eastern&amp;nbsp;Day&lt;/h3&gt;
  6167. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Anna&amp;nbsp;Evans
  6168. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  6170. &lt;p class=&#34;epigraph&#34;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Translated from Marceline&amp;nbsp;Desbordes-Valmore&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6172. &lt;p&gt;It was a day like this one, just as bright,&lt;br&gt;
  6173. which set this love, with all to lose,&amp;nbsp;alight.&lt;/p&gt;
  6175. &lt;p&gt;It was a day of perfect charity,&lt;br&gt;
  6176. in whose blue breezes strolls eternity,&lt;br&gt;
  6177. where, freed from the stifling loads it has to bear,&lt;br&gt;
  6178. the earth can play, a child without a care.&lt;br&gt;
  6179. It was like a mother&amp;#8217;s kiss in every place,&lt;br&gt;
  6180. a long dream straying as time draws on apace,&lt;br&gt;
  6181. an hour of birds, of perfumes, and of sun,&lt;br&gt;
  6182. of utter forgetting, well-being bettered by&amp;nbsp;none.&lt;/p&gt;
  6184. &lt;p&gt;There were two of us. It&amp;#8217;s too much for one in love&lt;br&gt;
  6185. to preserve oneself. Alas, that we were two!&lt;br&gt;
  6186. Not one lone witness who had to think of himself.&lt;br&gt;
  6187. We needed one so much—more than I knew&lt;br&gt;
  6188. in all the world. Too close to my soul he came,&lt;br&gt;
  6189. his soul&amp;#8217;s perfection dazzling my eyes.&lt;br&gt;
  6190. I was struck blind by his own pair, aflame,&lt;br&gt;
  6191. and saw too much when I looked back at the&amp;nbsp;skies.&lt;/p&gt;
  6193. &lt;p&gt;I was too dumb to recognize the threat.&lt;br&gt;
  6194. I stay alive in order to&amp;nbsp;forget.&lt;/p&gt;
  6196. &lt;p&gt;It was a day like this one, just as bright,&lt;br&gt;
  6197. which set this love, with all to lose,&amp;nbsp;alight.&lt;/p&gt;
  6199. &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6200. &lt;hr&gt;
  6202. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Jour&amp;nbsp;d&amp;#8217;Orient&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6204. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6205. &lt;p&gt;Ce fut un jour pareil à ce beau jour&lt;br&gt;
  6206. Que, pour tout perdre, incendiait&amp;nbsp;l&amp;#8217;amour!&lt;/p&gt;
  6208. &lt;p&gt;C&amp;#8217;était un jour de charité divine&lt;br&gt;
  6209. Où dans l&amp;#8217;air bleu l&amp;#8217;éternité chemine;&lt;br&gt;
  6210. Où dérobée à son poids étouffant&lt;br&gt;
  6211. La terre joue et redevient enfant;&lt;br&gt;
  6212. C&amp;#8217;était partout comme un baiser de mère,&lt;br&gt;
  6213. Long rêve errant dans une heure éphémère;&lt;br&gt;
  6214. Heure d&amp;#8217;oiseaux, de parfums, de soleil,&lt;br&gt;
  6215. D&amp;#8217;oubli de tout&amp;#8230; hors du bien sans&amp;nbsp;pareil.&lt;/p&gt;
  6217. &lt;p&gt;Nous étions deux!&amp;#8230; C&amp;#8217;est trop d&amp;#8217;un quand on aime&lt;br&gt;
  6218. Pour se garder&amp;#8230; Hélas ! nous étions deux.&lt;br&gt;
  6219. Pas un témoin qui sauve de soi-même!&lt;br&gt;
  6220. Jamais au monde on n&amp;#8217;eut plus besoin d&amp;#8217;eux&lt;br&gt;
  6221. Que nous l&amp;#8217;avions! Lui, trop près de mon âme,&lt;br&gt;
  6222. Avec son âme éblouissait mes yeux;&lt;br&gt;
  6223. J&amp;#8217;étais aveugle à cette double flamme,&lt;br&gt;
  6224. Et j&amp;#8217;y vis trop quand je revis les&amp;nbsp;cieux.&lt;/p&gt;
  6226. &lt;p&gt;Pour me sauver, j&amp;#8217;étais trop peu savante;&lt;br&gt;
  6227. Pour l&amp;#8217;oublier&amp;#8230; je suis encor&amp;nbsp;vivante!&lt;/p&gt;
  6229. &lt;p&gt;C&amp;#8217;était un jour pareil à ce beau jour&lt;br&gt;
  6230. Que, pour tout perdre, incendiait&amp;nbsp;l&amp;#8217;amour!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6231.            <summary type="html">
  6232.                &lt;p&gt;It was a day like this one, just as bright,&lt;br&gt;
  6233. which set this love, with all to lose,&amp;nbsp;alight.&lt;/p&gt;
  6235. &lt;p&gt;It was a day of perfect charity,&lt;br&gt;
  6236. in whose blue breezes strolls eternity,&lt;br&gt;
  6237. where, freed from the stifling loads it has to bear,&lt;br&gt;
  6238. the earth can play, a child without a care.&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6239.        </entry>
  6240.            <entry>
  6241.                                    <title type="html">Hucksterism 101</title>
  6242.            <author><name>Esther Greenleaf Murer
  6243. </name></author>
  6244.            <link href="/author/egmurer/hucksterism_101"/>
  6245.            <updated>2013-07-12T21:35:06Z</updated>
  6246.            <published>2013-07-12T21:35:06Z</published>
  6247.            <id></id>
  6248.                                    <category   scheme=""
  6249.                        term="meter"
  6250.                        label="Meter" />
  6251.                        <category   scheme=""
  6252.                        term="rhyme"
  6253.                        label="Rhyme" />
  6255.                        <content type="html">
  6256.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  6258. &lt;h3&gt;Hucksterism&amp;nbsp;101&lt;/h3&gt;
  6260. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Esther Greenleaf&amp;nbsp;Murer
  6261. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  6263. &lt;p&gt;Be ready to absquatulate&lt;br&gt;
  6264. if that should prove the wisest course.&lt;br&gt;
  6265. Meanwhile, shout until you&amp;#8217;re hoarse,&lt;br&gt;
  6266. declaim, cajole, confabulate,&lt;br&gt;
  6267. pontificate, prevaricate,&lt;br&gt;
  6268. but never, never show remorse.&lt;br&gt;
  6269. If things go wrong, absquatulate;&lt;br&gt;
  6270. but that should be your last&amp;nbsp;recourse.&lt;/p&gt;
  6272. &lt;p&gt;If you can&amp;#8217;t circumstantiate&lt;br&gt;
  6273. your facts, recite them in Old Norse&lt;br&gt;
  6274. or cite a &amp;#8220;highly secret&amp;#8221; source.&lt;br&gt;
  6275. When folks are hooked, congratulate&lt;br&gt;
  6276. yourself!  And then, absquatulate —&lt;br&gt;
  6277. and don&amp;#8217;t forget the loot, of&amp;nbsp;course.&lt;/p&gt;
  6279. &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6280.            <summary type="html">
  6281.                &lt;p&gt;Be ready to absquatulate&lt;br&gt;
  6282. if that should prove the wisest course.&lt;br&gt;
  6283. Meanwhile, shout until you&amp;#8217;re hoarse,&lt;br&gt;
  6284. declaim, cajole, confabulate,&lt;br&gt;
  6285. pontificate, prevaricate,&lt;br&gt;
  6286. but never, never show&amp;nbsp;remorse.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6287.        </entry>
  6288.            <entry>
  6289.                                    <title type="html">Fat Chance</title>
  6290.            <author><name>C. B. Anderson
  6291. </name></author>
  6292.            <link href="/author/cbanderson/fat_chance"/>
  6293.            <updated>2013-07-11T00:54:16Z</updated>
  6294.            <published>2013-07-11T00:54:16Z</published>
  6295.            <id></id>
  6296.                                    <category   scheme=""
  6297.                        term="meter"
  6298.                        label="Meter" />
  6299.                        <category   scheme=""
  6300.                        term="rhyme"
  6301.                        label="Rhyme" />
  6303.                        <content type="html">
  6304.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  6306. &lt;h3&gt;Fat&amp;nbsp;Chance&lt;/h3&gt;
  6308. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;C. B.&amp;nbsp;Anderson
  6309. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  6311. &lt;p&gt;Assorted notions come and go at random,&lt;br&gt;
  6312. Afloat inside the mind’s kaleidoscope.&lt;br&gt;
  6313. Related thoughts are seldom linked in tandem—&lt;br&gt;
  6314. By no fault of my own, I dare to&amp;nbsp;hope.&lt;/p&gt;
  6316. &lt;p&gt;The graph of truth and error is stochastic,&lt;br&gt;
  6317. With slippery slopes of bell curves everywhere;&lt;br&gt;
  6318. Concise accounts are always periphrastic,&lt;br&gt;
  6319. And equable environments are&amp;nbsp;rare.&lt;/p&gt;
  6321. &lt;p&gt;A lemming handed me a memorandum&lt;br&gt;
  6322. Directly from the office of the Boss:&lt;br&gt;
  6323. &lt;i&gt;For spastic flights we wax enthusiastic—&lt;br&gt;
  6324. Just leap across, or grab an&amp;nbsp;albatross.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6325.            <summary type="html">
  6326.                &lt;p&gt;The graph of truth and error is stochastic,&lt;br&gt;
  6327. With slippery slopes of bell curves everywhere;&lt;br&gt;
  6328. Concise accounts are always periphrastic,&lt;br&gt;
  6329. And equable environments are&amp;nbsp;rare.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6330.        </entry>
  6331.            <entry>
  6332.                                    <title type="html">Firecracker</title>
  6333.            <author><name>Anna Evans
  6334. </name></author>
  6335.            <link href="/author/aevans/firecracker"/>
  6336.            <updated>2013-07-09T08:02:16Z</updated>
  6337.            <published>2013-07-09T08:02:16Z</published>
  6338.            <id></id>
  6339.                                    <category   scheme=""
  6340.                        term="meter"
  6341.                        label="Meter" />
  6342.                        <category   scheme=""
  6343.                        term="rhyme"
  6344.                        label="Rhyme" />
  6346.                        <content type="html">
  6347.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  6349. &lt;h3&gt;Firecracker&lt;/h3&gt;
  6351. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Anna&amp;nbsp;Evans
  6352. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  6354. &lt;p&gt;
  6355. You either kiss this kind of girl, or smack her!&lt;br&gt;
  6356. She says things decent women never say,&lt;br&gt;
  6357. flirting as fiercely as a firecracker.&lt;br&gt;
  6358. &lt;/p&gt;
  6360. &lt;p&gt;
  6361. She likes to feel the eyes of men that track her&lt;br&gt;
  6362. across the room. She always gets her way.&lt;br&gt;
  6363. You either kiss this kind of girl or smack her.&lt;br&gt;
  6364. &lt;/p&gt;
  6366. &lt;p&gt;
  6367. Yet when the night is dark and getting blacker,&lt;br&gt;
  6368. her laughter brings the brightness of the day,&lt;br&gt;
  6369. lighting the room up like a firecracker.&lt;br&gt;
  6370. &lt;/p&gt;
  6372. &lt;p&gt;
  6373. If you offend her, she&amp;#8217;ll offend you back. Her&lt;br&gt;
  6374. rudeness shocks. She clearly doesn&amp;#8217;t pray.&lt;br&gt;
  6375. You either kiss this kind of girl or smack her.&lt;br&gt;
  6376. &lt;/p&gt;
  6378. &lt;p&gt;
  6379. But when you need her help she is no slacker—&lt;br&gt;
  6380. does anything, and never asks for pay,&lt;br&gt;
  6381. giving her all just like a firecracker.&lt;br&gt;
  6382. &lt;/p&gt;
  6384. &lt;p&gt;
  6385. The world is black and white with shades of gray,&lt;br&gt;
  6386. while she&amp;#8217;s flame-red and hard to send away.&lt;br&gt;
  6387. You either kiss this kind of girl or smack her.&lt;br&gt;
  6388. She&amp;#8217;ll burn you, baby, like a&amp;nbsp;firecracker.&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6389.            <summary type="html">
  6390.                &lt;p&gt;
  6391. You either kiss this kind of girl, or smack her!&lt;br&gt;
  6392. She says things decent women never say,&lt;br&gt;
  6393. flirting as fiercely as a firecracker.&lt;br&gt;
  6394. &lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6395.        </entry>
  6396.            <entry>
  6397.                                    <title type="html">Secrets</title>
  6398.            <author><name>Ellen Goldsmith
  6399. </name></author>
  6400.            <link href="/author/egoldsmith/secrets"/>
  6401.            <updated>2013-07-05T01:40:59Z</updated>
  6402.            <published>2013-07-05T01:40:59Z</published>
  6403.            <id></id>
  6404.                                    <category   scheme=""
  6405.                        term="meter"
  6406.                        label="Meter" />
  6407.                        <category   scheme=""
  6408.                        term="rhyme"
  6409.                        label="Rhyme" />
  6411.                        <content type="html">
  6412.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  6414. &lt;h3&gt;Secrets&lt;/h3&gt;
  6416. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Ellen&amp;nbsp;Goldsmith
  6417. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  6419. &lt;p&gt;Some thrive in an arbor of privacy&lt;br&gt;
  6420.              like&amp;nbsp;wisteria.&lt;/p&gt;
  6422. &lt;p&gt;Others rot in the dark&lt;br&gt;
  6423.              long for the eye’s&amp;nbsp;regard.&lt;/p&gt;
  6425. &lt;p&gt;18th century women wore brooches –&lt;br&gt;
  6426.              miniature paintings of secret lover’s&amp;nbsp;eyes&lt;/p&gt;
  6428. &lt;p&gt;             set in gold, surrounded&lt;br&gt;
  6429.              by seed pearls and&amp;nbsp;amethysts.&lt;/p&gt;
  6431. &lt;p&gt;For some secrets  &lt;br&gt;      
  6432.              there’s a teller and&amp;nbsp;receiver.&lt;/p&gt;
  6434. &lt;p&gt;Think of a seesaw,&lt;br&gt;
  6435.              level before the&amp;nbsp;telling&lt;/p&gt;
  6437. &lt;p&gt;             And then&lt;br&gt;
  6438. the secret&amp;nbsp;revealed&lt;/p&gt;
  6440. &lt;p&gt;      Whose end&lt;br&gt;&amp;nbsp;             drops?
  6441. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6442.            <summary type="html">
  6443.                &lt;p&gt;
  6444. Some thrive in an arbor of privacy&lt;br&gt;
  6445.              like&amp;nbsp;wisteria.&lt;/p&gt;
  6447. &lt;p&gt;Others rot in the&amp;nbsp;dark&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6448.        </entry>
  6449.            <entry>
  6450.                                    <title type="html">Far and Near</title>
  6451.            <author><name>Philip Quinlan
  6452. </name></author>
  6453.            <link href="/author/pquinlan/far_and_near"/>
  6454.            <updated>2013-07-03T05:03:27Z</updated>
  6455.            <published>2013-07-03T05:03:27Z</published>
  6456.            <id></id>
  6457.                                    <category   scheme=""
  6458.                        term="meter"
  6459.                        label="Meter" />
  6460.                        <category   scheme=""
  6461.                        term="rhyme"
  6462.                        label="Rhyme" />
  6464.                        <content type="html">
  6465.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  6467. &lt;h3&gt;Far and&amp;nbsp;Near&lt;/h3&gt;
  6469. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Philip&amp;nbsp;Quinlan
  6470. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  6472. &lt;p&gt;There is a darker side, it dawns on me.&lt;br&gt;
  6473. A story is unfolding in real time:&lt;br&gt;
  6474. matters of moment seen sequentially,&lt;br&gt;
  6475. framing the fate we play out line by&amp;nbsp;line.&lt;/p&gt;
  6477. &lt;p&gt;Persistent visions of those sweeping scenes,&lt;br&gt;
  6478. the disenchantments of a distant view:&lt;br&gt;
  6479. lessons in suffering by other means.&lt;br&gt;
  6480. I say what I’m supposed to say to&amp;nbsp;you.&lt;/p&gt;
  6482. &lt;p&gt;Far and away from me a fault line gives,&lt;br&gt;
  6483. a longitude between two sides: who lives,&lt;br&gt;
  6484. who’s lost. Tsunamis hit the coast, the news;&lt;br&gt;
  6485. some lose the little that they had to&amp;nbsp;lose.&lt;/p&gt;
  6487. &lt;p&gt;And then: a wave at breaking point, an emptied sea,&lt;br&gt;
  6488. mother to no one now, a nameless&amp;nbsp;she.&lt;/p&gt;
  6490. &lt;p&gt;Mine is an isomer of empathy.&lt;br&gt;
  6491. No one is anyone but you and&amp;nbsp;me.
  6492. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6493.            <summary type="html">
  6494.                &lt;p&gt;
  6495. here is a darker side, it dawns on me.&lt;br&gt;
  6496. A story is unfolding in real time:&lt;br&gt;
  6497. matters of moment seen sequentially,&lt;br&gt;
  6498. framing the fate we play out line by&amp;nbsp;line.&lt;/p&gt;
  6500. &lt;p&gt;Persistent visions of those sweeping scenes,&lt;br&gt;
  6501. the disenchantments of a distant&amp;nbsp;view:&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6502.        </entry>
  6503.            <entry>
  6504.                                    <title type="html">What Did You Do With It?</title>
  6505.            <author><name>Anna Evans
  6506. </name></author>
  6507.            <link href="/author/aevans/what_did_you_do_with_it"/>
  6508.            <updated>2013-07-01T05:52:37Z</updated>
  6509.            <published>2013-07-01T05:52:37Z</published>
  6510.            <id></id>
  6511.                                    <category   scheme=""
  6512.                        term="meter"
  6513.                        label="Meter" />
  6514.                        <category   scheme=""
  6515.                        term="rhyme"
  6516.                        label="Rhyme" />
  6517.                        <category   scheme=""
  6518.                        term="translation"
  6519.                        label="Translation" />
  6520.                        <category   scheme=""
  6521.                        term="french"
  6522.                        label="French" />
  6524.                        <content type="html">
  6525.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  6527. &lt;h3&gt;What Did You Do With&amp;nbsp;It?&lt;/h3&gt;
  6529. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Anna&amp;nbsp;Evans
  6530. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  6532. &lt;p class=&#34;epigraph&#34;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Translated from Marceline&amp;nbsp;Desbordes-Valmore&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6534. &lt;p&gt;
  6535. You had my heart,&lt;br&gt;
  6536. made yours my gift.&lt;br&gt;
  6537. You had my heart;&lt;br&gt;
  6538. luck was our&amp;nbsp;part.&lt;/p&gt;
  6540. &lt;p&gt;
  6541. Yours is returned,&lt;br&gt;
  6542. I have none left,&lt;br&gt;
  6543. Yours is returned,&lt;br&gt;
  6544. mine can&amp;#8217;t be&amp;nbsp;found.&lt;/p&gt;
  6546. &lt;p&gt;
  6547. The leaf and the flower&lt;br&gt;
  6548. and even the gourd,&lt;br&gt;
  6549. the leaf and the flower,&lt;br&gt;
  6550. the scent and the&amp;nbsp;color:&lt;/p&gt;
  6552. &lt;p&gt;
  6553. What did you do with it,&lt;br&gt;
  6554. master and lord?&lt;br&gt;
  6555. what did you do with it?&lt;br&gt;
  6556. With this sweet&amp;nbsp;benefit?&lt;/p&gt;
  6558. &lt;p&gt;
  6559. Like a poor babe&lt;br&gt;
  6560. left by her mother,&lt;br&gt;
  6561. like a poor babe&lt;br&gt;
  6562. no-one can&amp;nbsp;save,&lt;/p&gt;
  6564. &lt;p&gt;
  6565. you abandoned me&lt;br&gt;
  6566. in bitter weather;&lt;br&gt;
  6567. you abandoned me;&lt;br&gt;
  6568. this is what God can&amp;nbsp;see.&lt;/p&gt;
  6570. &lt;p&gt;
  6571. One day, don&amp;#8217;t you know&lt;br&gt;
  6572. Man walks the world alone?&lt;br&gt;
  6573. One day, don&amp;#8217;t you know&lt;br&gt;
  6574. you&amp;#8217;ll miss our love&amp;nbsp;so.&lt;/p&gt;
  6576. &lt;p&gt;
  6577. You&amp;#8217;ll come a-calling,&lt;br&gt;
  6578. but hear from no-one&lt;br&gt;
  6579. You&amp;#8217;ll come a-calling&lt;br&gt;
  6580. and you will&amp;nbsp;dream!&lt;/p&gt;
  6582. &lt;p&gt;
  6583. Dreaming you&amp;#8217;ll drift&lt;br&gt;
  6584. to rattle my gate.&lt;br&gt;
  6585. As if there were no rift,&lt;br&gt;
  6586. dreaming you&amp;#8217;ll&amp;nbsp;drift.&lt;/p&gt;
  6588. &lt;p&gt;
  6589. And they will say to you:&lt;br&gt;
  6590. Oh, you seek the late…?&lt;br&gt;
  6591. This they will say to you,&lt;br&gt;
  6592. but who will pray for&amp;nbsp;you?
  6593. &lt;/p&gt;
  6595. &lt;hr&gt;
  6597. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Qu&amp;#8217;en avez-vous&amp;nbsp;fait?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6599. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Vous aviez mon cœur,&lt;br&gt;
  6600. Moi, j&amp;#8217;avais le vôtre:&lt;br&gt;
  6601. Un cœur pour un cœur;&lt;br&gt;
  6602. Bonheur pour&amp;nbsp;bonheur!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6604. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;
  6605. Le vôtre est rendu,&lt;br&gt;
  6606. Je n&amp;#8217;en ai plus d&amp;#8217;autre,&lt;br&gt;
  6607. Le vôtre est rendu,&lt;br&gt;
  6608. Le mien est&amp;nbsp;perdu!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6610. &lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;
  6611. La feuille et la fleur&lt;br&gt;
  6612. Et le fruit lui-même,&lt;br&gt;
  6613. La feuille et la fleur,&lt;br&gt;
  6614. L&amp;#8217;encens, la&amp;nbsp;couleur:&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6615. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;
  6616. Qu&amp;#8217;en avez-vous fait,&lt;br&gt;
  6617. Mon maître suprême?&lt;br&gt;
  6618. Qu&amp;#8217;en avez-vous fait,&lt;br&gt;
  6619. De ce doux&amp;nbsp;bienfait?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6621. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;
  6622. Comme un pauvre enfant&lt;br&gt;
  6623. Quitté par sa mère,&lt;br&gt;
  6624. Comme un pauvre enfant&lt;br&gt;
  6625. Que rien ne&amp;nbsp;défend,&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6627. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;
  6628. Vous me laissez là,&lt;br&gt;
  6629. Dans ma vie amère;&lt;br&gt;
  6630. Vous me laissez là,&lt;br&gt;
  6631. Et Dieu voit&amp;nbsp;cela!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6633. &lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;
  6634. Savez-vous qu&amp;#8217;un jour&lt;br&gt;
  6635. L&amp;#8217;homme est seul au monde?&lt;br&gt;
  6636. Savez-vous qu&amp;#8217;un jour&lt;br&gt;
  6637. Il revoit&amp;nbsp;l&amp;#8217;amour?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6638. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;
  6639. Vous appellerez,&lt;br&gt;
  6640. Sans qu&amp;#8217;on vous réponde;&lt;br&gt;
  6641. Vous appellerez,&lt;br&gt;
  6642. Et vous&amp;nbsp;songerez!&amp;#8230;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6644. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;
  6645. Vous viendrez rêvant&lt;br&gt;
  6646. Sonner à ma porte;&lt;br&gt;
  6647. Ami comme avant,&lt;br&gt;
  6648. Vous viendrez&amp;nbsp;rêvant.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
  6650. &lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;
  6651. Et l&amp;#8217;on vous dira:&lt;br&gt;
  6652. &amp;#8220;Personne!&amp;#8230; elle est morte.&amp;#8221;&lt;br&gt;
  6653. On vous le dira;&lt;br&gt;
  6654. Mais qui vous&amp;nbsp;plaindra?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6655.            <summary type="html">
  6656.                &lt;p&gt;You had my heart,&lt;br&gt;
  6657. made yours my gift.&lt;br&gt;
  6658. You had my heart;&lt;br&gt;
  6659. luck was our&amp;nbsp;part.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6660.        </entry>
  6661.            <entry>
  6662.                                    <title type="html">Naked</title>
  6663.            <author><name>Emanuel Xavier
  6664. </name></author>
  6665.            <link href="/author/exavier/naked"/>
  6666.            <updated>2013-06-28T06:28:56Z</updated>
  6667.            <published>2013-06-28T06:28:56Z</published>
  6668.            <id></id>
  6669.                                    <category   scheme=""
  6670.                        term="meter"
  6671.                        label="Meter" />
  6672.                        <category   scheme=""
  6673.                        term="rhyme"
  6674.                        label="Rhyme" />
  6676.                        <content type="html">
  6677.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  6679. &lt;h3&gt;Naked&lt;/h3&gt;
  6681. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Emanuel&amp;nbsp;Xavier
  6682. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  6684. &lt;p&gt;
  6685. They fucked up your tattoo!&lt;br&gt;
  6686. That man on the crucifix is supposed to be completely nude&lt;br&gt;
  6687. Balls hanging&lt;br&gt;
  6688. Where did that loincloth come from?&lt;br&gt;
  6689. Your tattoo artist could sketch fabric on to your skin but not a cock?&lt;br&gt;
  6690. Obviously he or she was not a Roman&lt;br&gt;
  6691. because they offered no such kind gestures to criminals&lt;br&gt;
  6692. Didn&amp;#8217;t they read that sacred book?  &lt;br&gt;
  6693. It doesn&amp;#8217;t mention anything about covering his private parts&lt;br&gt;
  6694. How could they modify your Savior?&lt;br&gt;
  6695. At least he&amp;#8217;s got those true-to-life details-&lt;br&gt;
  6696. long blonde hair, blue eyes and ivory white&amp;nbsp;skin&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6697.            <summary type="html">
  6698.                &lt;p&gt;
  6699. They fucked up your tattoo!&lt;br&gt;
  6700. That man on the crucifix is supposed to be completely&amp;nbsp;nude&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6701.        </entry>
  6702.            <entry>
  6703.                                    <title type="html">My Personal Relationship with Christ</title>
  6704.            <author><name>John Foy
  6705. </name></author>
  6706.            <link href="/author/jfoy/my_personal_relationship_with"/>
  6707.            <updated>2013-06-27T04:21:59Z</updated>
  6708.            <published>2013-06-27T04:21:59Z</published>
  6709.            <id></id>
  6710.                                    <category   scheme=""
  6711.                        term="meter"
  6712.                        label="Meter" />
  6713.                        <category   scheme=""
  6714.                        term="rhyme"
  6715.                        label="Rhyme" />
  6717.                        <content type="html">
  6718.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  6720. &lt;h3&gt;My Personal Relationship with&amp;nbsp;Christ&lt;/h3&gt;
  6722. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;John&amp;nbsp;Foy
  6723. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  6725. &lt;p&gt;
  6726. So let me say up front I’ve never had&lt;br&gt;
  6727. a personal relationship with Christ,&lt;br&gt;
  6728. although Lord knows I’ve tried.  For instance, when&lt;br&gt;
  6729. my mother died, I went to write her name&lt;br&gt;
  6730. in the Book of the Dead at Corpus Christi Church.&lt;br&gt;
  6731. I carefully inscribed it on the page&lt;br&gt;
  6732. and in that devastating darkness wished&lt;br&gt;
  6733. that He had come to talk with me. I prayed&lt;br&gt;
  6734. for quick conveyance of my mother’s soul,&lt;br&gt;
  6735. but what Christ may have done to comfort her,&lt;br&gt;
  6736. wherever she might have been, I never knew.&lt;br&gt;
  6737. I’ve often wondered what it would be like&lt;br&gt;
  6738. to have a drink with Him. Would He show up&lt;br&gt;
  6739. at Mulligan’s or at the Old Town bar?&lt;br&gt;
  6740. He wouldn’t take a whisky, only wine.&lt;br&gt;
  6741. I’d treat Him to a round or two. The point&lt;br&gt;
  6742. is that He never comes, which makes it hard&lt;br&gt;
  6743. to have a personal relationship.&lt;br&gt;
  6744. Maybe I should go to Abilene&lt;br&gt;
  6745. and get a gun, a Bushmaster assault rifle,&lt;br&gt;
  6746. and learn to sing some Randy Travis tunes&lt;br&gt;
  6747. and send my money in to men of God&lt;br&gt;
  6748. like Creflo Dollar and his Ministry.&lt;br&gt;
  6749. In righteousness and rhinestones maybe then&lt;br&gt;
  6750. Christ would come to me. It would be good&lt;br&gt;
  6751. to have this personal relationship,&lt;br&gt;
  6752. but how does anybody pal around&lt;br&gt;
  6753. with the nexus of all human suffering?&lt;br&gt;
  6754. And why would He decide to hang around&lt;br&gt;
  6755. and listen to my low-end grievances?&lt;br&gt;
  6756. To think He would is to be guilty of&lt;br&gt;
  6757. the sin of Pride, or at the very least&lt;br&gt;
  6758. to be unpleasantly presumptuous.&lt;br&gt;
  6759. If everyone is special, no one is,&lt;br&gt;
  6760. and I would bet that Jesus doesn’t want&lt;br&gt;
  6761. a personal relationship with me.&lt;br&gt;
  6762. &lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6763.            <summary type="html">
  6764.                &lt;p&gt;
  6765. So let me say up front I’ve never had&lt;br&gt;
  6766. a personal relationship with Christ,&lt;br&gt;
  6767. although Lord knows I’ve&amp;nbsp;tried.&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6768.        </entry>
  6769.            <entry>
  6770.                                    <title type="html">Red Dawn</title>
  6771.            <author><name>Anna Evans
  6772. </name></author>
  6773.            <link href="/author/aevans/red_dawn"/>
  6774.            <updated>2013-06-25T04:16:25Z</updated>
  6775.            <published>2013-06-25T04:16:25Z</published>
  6776.            <id></id>
  6777.                                    <category   scheme=""
  6778.                        term="meter"
  6779.                        label="Meter" />
  6780.                        <category   scheme=""
  6781.                        term="rhyme"
  6782.                        label="Rhyme" />
  6784.                        <content type="html">
  6785.                &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span class=&#34;caps&#34;&gt;POETRY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
  6787. &lt;h3&gt;Red&amp;nbsp;Dawn&lt;/h3&gt;
  6789. &lt;h4&gt;By &lt;span class=&#34;byline&#34;&gt;Anna&amp;nbsp;Evans
  6790. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;
  6792. &lt;p&gt;
  6793. A garnet sun arose and bled&lt;br&gt;
  6794. until the field in early morning&lt;br&gt;
  6795. blazed up like poppies, but I&amp;#8217;ve read&lt;br&gt;
  6796. such glory means a weather warning,&lt;br&gt;
  6797. and soon enough the clouds boiled in,&lt;br&gt;
  6798. turning the sky to sheets of&amp;nbsp;tin.&lt;/p&gt;
  6800. &lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;
  6801. All day the sun hid from the rain&lt;br&gt;
  6802. which pounded with relentless hooves&lt;br&gt;
  6803. on awnings, cornices, my brain,&lt;br&gt;
  6804. knocking slates off all their roofs.&lt;br&gt;
  6805. Spring kisses, then withdraws her kiss,&lt;br&gt;
  6806. and April always feels like&amp;nbsp;this,&lt;/p&gt;
  6807. &lt;p&gt;
  6808. despite the crocuses&amp;#8217; new shoots,&lt;br&gt;
  6809. the chattering of the nesting birds,&lt;br&gt;
  6810. the green things spreading at the roots,&lt;br&gt;
  6811. and all the optimistic words.&lt;br&gt;
  6812. Migraine-heavy, time goes slow.&lt;br&gt;
  6813. Burn me up or give me&amp;nbsp;snow.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            </content>
  6814.            <summary type="html">
  6815.                &lt;p&gt;A garnet sun arose and bled&lt;br&gt;
  6816. until the field in early morning&lt;br&gt;
  6817. blazed up like poppies, but I&amp;#8217;ve read&lt;br&gt;
  6818. such glory means a weather&amp;nbsp;warning,&lt;/p&gt;            </summary>
  6819.        </entry>
  6820.            <entry>
  6821.                                    <title type="html">One Evening</title>
  6822.            <author><name>Jenna Le
  6823. </name></author>
  6824.            <link href="/author/jle/one_evening"/>
  6825.            <updated>2013-06-23T01:37:03Z</updated>
  6826.            <published>2013-06-23T01:37:03Z</published>
  6827.            <id></id>
  6828.                                    <category   scheme=""