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apprenticeship The difference is always road and you can measure it with rocks or spiders. The street signs are blue, the poor lie naked in the parks. The work of fire never ends and angels build cities of grass. Someone will follow a bird to a forest where child twins are slain. No king…
Don’t think that being a left-handed nightingale was all legerdemain or that I am that small angry bastard who hates whores, only I disguised it by laughing; or that it’s easy leaving a restaurant by yourself and holding your other hand against the bricks to keep from falling; or anybody can play the harp, or…
Philip Levine, Unselected Poems, poems: This provocative, quirky volume collects the best of Levine’s work-some of his favorites-that he was unable to include in his New Selected Poems, which is now out of print, and in his previous three books. (Greenhouse Review)
He was walking down the highway, Ohio SR 4 between Union City and Butler, singing at the top of his voice. He carried a green plaid suit in a clear plastic garment bag. He did not bother to hitchhike, to actually turn every now and then and lift a thumb. By the city limits sign…
The difference between my house in Pennsylvania and my house in Massachusetts is the difference between fish stinking in one place and birds in the other. The dead and bygone locusts in both places attest to this, and the salt water bringing the sea back into my inland river. Suffering being equal, I am happy…
Thomas Lux, New and Selected Poems, poems: The winner of the Kingsley Tufts Award for Split Horizon, Lux gathers poems from the last twenty years that demonstrate his deft humor and precise music, fastening on the rueful poignancies of our lives. (Houghton Mifflin)
Because my Spanish is chips-and-salsa simple, and I am desirous of improving upon it, and delighted whenever I can puzzle out on my own some new word or phrase, I am listening in on the conversation of the two Cuban men next to me at the counter of the plumbing supply store in Little Haiti,…
translated by Martha Collins and the author Are they Julio and Carmen? Or José and Magreta? Are they from Ethiopia, or Tanzania? From the Congo, or somewhere else? On the beach under the moonlight They lie side by side Like two exhausted seals Thrown from the sea by storm waves. Their black skin glistens in…
Richard Tillinghast, Today in the Café Trieste, poems: Tillinghast’s first book to be published in Ireland contains new poems written, with typical mastery, since The Stonecutter’s Hand (Godine, 1995), as well as a retrospective of his earlier work. (Salmon)
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