Category: Poetry

Your New New Year’s Book

The Bedside Guide to No Tell Motel Edited by Reb Livingston & Molly Arden (ISBN: 1-4116-6591-0) NOW AVAILABLE at Lulu for $12.99 Available Soon at Amazon and B&N for $16.99 Featuring Discretion By: Aaron Anstett * Molly Arden * Robert W. Barnett * Aaron Belz * Jasper Bernes * Remica L. Bingham * Anne Boyer…

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We Leave All Over

What do you do with a genius student? You publish her work on your blog and count yourself among the first. You publish it even if it’s a first draft. You’re too impatient to wait for the finished product. The semester’s end is a week away, and that’s more than a weekend. I don’t know…

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Billy Collins Knows His Ganja

Okay, maybe he wasn’t smoking weed (aka marijuana aka pot aka cannabis aka Mary Jane, etc.) back then , but find out more about the U.S. Poet Laureate’s inclinations here. And big props go out to Reb (aka Rebaroni) today! Peace~ p.s. Not your mother’s musician anymore: Neil Diamond’s “12 Songs” will turn your underwear…

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Free Reading and Reception?!

I will be here tomorrow night. So will Ron Padgett, Charles North, Paul Violi, Mark Halliday, David Shapiro, Jordan Davis, Karen Koch, Katherine Koch, Philip Lopate, Tony Towle, Anne Waldman and Mark Statman. They’ll be reading. I won’t. I’ll be enjoying. For now, you might get lost in this poem. I love it. See you…

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A Creeley Kind of Day

Is it possible that I didn’t steal this Creeley photo from Kasey? Or this poem from Ploughshares? Is it possible you might enjoy them both, whether borrowed, begged, or stolen? Old Story from The Diary of Francis Kilvert One bell wouldn’t ring loud enough. So they beat the bell to hell, Max, with an axe,…

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The Lovely Elaine Equi ~

She has arrived in her coat of many delightful colors, which include: generosity, cheer, intelligence, and great spirit (just in time for the holidays!). Yes folks, I tout her highly and am happy to have interviewed her here. Perhaps you will even find yourself preparing work for her exciting new anthology or making a pair…

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Can a Poet Be a Badass?

Absolutely. Yes. I like this photo of Ron Silliman, albeit a younger version of the poet, because it reflects his inner badass-ed-ness. Hesitantly, I met him yesterday to do an interview for MiPo Radio. “Hesitant” because I was fairly intimidated and feeling highly underqualified. Call this kissing up if you must, but I often read…

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What the Exhaustion Does

It makes me post poems-not-my-own. I’m exhausted from teaching literature-on-repeat, among other things equally tiring. I’ll keep the remaining details off the radar for the moment (mostly so I don’t bore you). Here’s a Robert Frank photo to tide you over (something of a lament just in time for the spring weather to leave us)…

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Poets Are Roses

In common soil — fellow Williamsburg inhabitant and friend, Ossian Foley, has generously supplied me with some of his new verse to entertain blog interlopers seeking word spins. Support the masses one poet at a time! Plasticity, thank heavens. Umber amazoned and fits and will list as sickled cants. A token all might, or what’s…

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Can This Blog Falter?

I suppose if you come with certain expectations, yes. But do you? I never really know why I come here. At least, overall. Blogs are very much public diaries — the rules don’t apply really. It’s a take-or-leave-it situation, no? Why visit? I mostly go to blogs to find out the happenings of other poets…

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One Thing Poetry Does

is the work of making and reflecting the world. We are the world? We are of it, in it, reaping it, breaking it, building, patching, sewing, seaming, composting, revising, whitewashing, thatching, stripping, and collaging it daily. Every moment. Rather than write about the Ashbery profile mentioned a few posts ago (okay, I suppose it’s a…

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I Have Stolen

this collage painting from Jane Hammond, who created it for a series she completed called, “The John Ashbery Collaboration.” He supplied her with titles; she painted. In fact, I just ordered the book of reproductions from Amazon for the amazingly low price of 2.99. I’ll believe it when it actually arrives in my mailbox. Anyway,…

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How Have I Lived …

without part four of Gabrielle Calvocoressi’s poem, “Suite Billy Strayhorn”? I mean, people are on the edge of their seats waiting for Bush’s next lame-o nominee for the Supreme Court, debating Roe vs. Wade and so forth, while I get to sit here and read poems from The Last Time I Saw Amelia Earhart. God…

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Meaning A Life

My first Objectivist, and still the primary one, was George Oppen. I was reminded of him this morning, and I wanted to post a poem of his that I read one bright, cold Buffalo morning years ago that brought tears to my eyes. Unfortunately, my Oppen book is at my office, where I am not.…

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On “Small”

Maybe you thought I dissolved into my horizontal tomorrow since Thursday? No, I grew a second body and drove to Baltimore, where I encountered too many fine people to list. Carolyn and Don kissed & hugged me hello. Poetry host, Michael Ball, is as gracious as a willow in this past weekend’s breeze. Justin Sirois…

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Speaking of Meaning

Last night I meant to post. But I couldn’t, thanks to Mialka and Terry, who graciously provided my ticket to hear David Gray play at Radio City Music Hall. Though you might not like Brit Pop (whyever wouldn’t you?!), you have to give credit where credit is born: Gray has a killer voice. The recorded…

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Coincidentally Enough

Last night, I saw David Cronenberg’s new film, A History of Violence. It usually takes me a few days to absorb a movie and figure out what to think of it. My intial impression of History is that Cronenberg does not intend to glorify violence, but he wants us to empathize with a protagonist who…

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Rubbing for Poetry

Driving home today after emailing with another poet about romantic interests, being alone, relating to people, etc., I got to thinking about the strange impulse that causes people to have intellectually-charged discussions and then moves them to rub their bodies together. Yes, I know, that might be a slightly-debased way of describing the sex act,…

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Friday Night Feast

I found a poem today and was flattered because I think it’s for me. Clio and her musical karate team — how strange and fun. This line reminds me of a mill in Georgia I used to fish near with my grandfather when I was younger, “Now we sit in a mill & I draw…

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The Darkness Surrounds Us

After a day spent dozing & using up the remaining tissue, I am now listening to Kathleen Edwards recent cd, “Back to Me,” in an effort to avoid the tv & CNN’s “Breaking News” that will surely bring more devastating updates about Texas evacuees and breached New Orleans levees. I can barely stand it. Allergies…

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Poetry or Funny?

I’m back after being awash in jazz, drinking musicians full of hearty banter, clean air, water & woods, smiling people, and beauty, beauty, beauty. Already bogged with class prep duties, a slightly neglected manuscript tugging at my sleeve, and academic duties that would bring tears to your eyes. So I’ll spare you. Instead, I’ll just…

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Old & New Tragedies

The view posted here of the Williamsburg Bridge and the twin towers is just about what I saw to my left everyday as I headed to take the subway to work in Manhattan. On 9/11, I was late and woke up to the news that the first tower had been hit. My friends and I…

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Incredibly,

I have several poems and a short essay in this new textbook by Barbara Barnard and David Winn called, Access Literature: An Introduction to Fiction, Poetry and Drama. My brief essay will be, I think, helpful for students new to poetry. It’s called, “A Rose Is a Rose Is a Thorny Yellow Thing.” First person…

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