The dust in my lungs, Knock it out of me. — Marty McConnell, from “elegy,” Court Green. Court Green was an online poetry journal published annually in association with the Department of Creative Writing at Columbia College Chicago. It was named after a property in North Tawton, Devon, England, which was the home of poets… Continue reading Marty McConnel
Writing down your thoughts is both necessary and harmful. It leads to eccentricity, narcissism, preserves what should be let go. On the other hand, these notes intensify the inner life, which, left unexpressed, slips through your fingers. If only I could find a better kind of journal, humbler, one that would preserve the same thoughts,… Continue reading Anna Kamieńska
O minutehand, teach me how to hold [her] the way thirst holds water. Let every river envy our mouths. Let every kiss hit the body like a season. Where apples thunder the earth with red hooves. — Ocean Vuong, from “A Little Closer to the Edge,” Poetry ( April 2016)
And I, tiny being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, felt myself a pure part of the abyss. I wheeled with the stars. My heart broke loose with the wind — Mark Strand, from “Pablo Neruda and his passions,” The New Yorker (September 8, 2003)
Late Aubade after Hardy So what do you think, Life, it seemed pretty good to me, though quiet, I guess, and unspectacular. It’s been so long, I don’t know any more how these things go. I don’t know what it means that we’ve had this time together. I get that the coffee, the sunlight on… Continue reading James Richardson
You, drowning between my arms — stay. — Ocean Vuong, from “On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous,” Poetry Magazine. (December 2014)
(with her beauty more than snow dexterous and fugitive my very frail lady drifting distinctly, moving like a myth in the uncertain morning, with April feet like sudden flowers and all her body filled with May) — E.E. Cummings, from “Puella Mea,” The Dial, January 1921.