Clear Search Results
Giovanni Pascoli (translated from the Italian by Geoffrey Brock)
Three grapes, Giacinto, grow upon these vines:
The first is pleasure, and is clear as air;
the next is sweet amnesia. Drink their wines,
yes—but stop there . . .
book
World Poetry Books
Feature Date
- October 21, 2021
Series
- Translation
Selected By
Nava EtShalom
I woke up from marrying my father;
the window let in a little streeplamp shine.
None of us knew what time it was.
The streetlamp thought three. The boy
thought morning, and started to wake.
book
Carnegie Mellon University Press
Feature Date
- October 20, 2021
Series
Selected By
Marjorie Welish
Itself
Sedentary in another language is language as such
Whether or not we can read it, sought
Because home. . .
book
Coffee House Press
Feature Date
- October 19, 2021
Series
Selected By
Brigit Pegeen Kelly
Strange about the kills we get without intending them.
Because we are pointed in the direction of something.
Because we are distracted at just the right moment, or the wrong.
book
BOA Editions
Feature Date
- October 18, 2021
Series
- What Sparks Poetry
Selected By
Shuri Kido (translated from the Japanese by Tomoyuki Endo & Forrest Gander)
A long slope.
The sun dipped, and finally sank.
No matter how long I walked, I stayed in "the middle of the road."
The name torn into pieces.
Just keeping on, climbing higher and higher
I'd completely forgotten the name.
journal
Harvard Review
Feature Date
- October 17, 2021
Series
- Translation
Selected By
Peter Filkins
Shy panzer of the swamp, atavistic
in your haughty calm, you blink at us
encapsulated in our swanky Prius . . .
book
Johns Hopkins University Press
Feature Date
- October 16, 2021
Series
Selected By
Danusha Laméris
I think of how I've come to call her sister, dropping
the suffix. We've known each other since
she was three and I was six. And I don't know
what a sister is if not an other, a fragile mirror, space
of tenderness. Female, and mortal, and afraid.
journal
The Southern Review
Feature Date
- October 15, 2021
Series
Selected By
Parker Hobson
There is a thin, curvy line
between laughter and slaughter, I try yelling
to you on the roller coaster but my timing
is off, our shark bodies flung
into runaway cursive, vestigial Converses dragging serifs
across the clouds.
journal
32 Poems
Feature Date
- October 14, 2021
Series
Selected By
Derrick Austin
Today I'm happy by myself
wandering this creek's paths of sand and crushed shells,
what used to be submerged.
book
BOA Editions
Feature Date
- October 13, 2021
Series
Selected By
Jane Wong
Above: my neighbor's feet, fussing from room to room,
velvet hooves tendering my head. Was the fruitcake
curdling? Would the mail make it there on time? (it must
make it there on time)?
book
Alice James Books
Feature Date
- October 12, 2021
