Poetry Daily
They stand scattered and not facing each other. Like black-eyed susans lining the highway, or sisters angry in some small kitchen.
from the book The Solace Is Not the Lullaby / Yale University Press

What Sparks Poetry is a serialized feature in which we invite poets to explore experiences and ideas that spark new poems.

In our current series, Object Lessons, we’re thinking about the relationship between the experienced and imagined world. We have asked our editors and invited poets to present one of their own poems in combination with the object that inspired it, and to meditate on the magical journey from object to poem.

Jennifer Atkinson on "Local History"
Photo: Jennifer Atkinson
Rainer Maria Rilke (translated from the German by Steve Kronen)
They’d grown used to him there, but when they lit the kitchen lamp and the flame fluttered in the dark, he, the one without a name, seemed all the more un-nameable.
Carlos Drummond de Andrade (translated from the Portuguese by Mark Strand)
The children looked at the sky: it was not forbidden. Mouth, nose, eyes were open. There was no danger.
Karen Solie
My many regrets have become the great passion of my life. One may also grow fond of what there isn't much of.
Jennifer Atkinson
Soaked in tallow, the spikes burn down to an acrid smolder Over a feast of winnowed thistle, one black seed for each hag spirit.

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