Posts tagged ‘2016’

Sunday, 23 June 2019

Another Country by James Harrison

I love these raw moist dawns with
a thousand birds you hear but can’t
quite see in the mist.
My old alien body is a foreigner
struggling to get into another country.
The loon call makes me shiver.
Back at the cabin I see a book
and am not quite sure what that is.

From: https://lithub.com/where-is-jim-harrison-seven-poems-from-a-master/

Date: 2016

By: James Harrison (1937-2016)

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Wednesday, 24 April 2019

The Press of Other Lives by Panni Palásti (Eva Brown)

Like a leaf of grass
in a dense pasture
I am entwined in the tendrils
of other lives.
My roots tangle
with their roots.
My need for light
shares their need.
My reach for food
meets with their hunger.
I dream their dreams
and taste their tears.
Their faces may fade
on my night screen,
their cries smothered
by my remote,
but they echo,
claim and crowd me,
make me swallow
more than I can hold.

From: https://www.stuff.co.nz/nelson-mail/opinion/79090878/war-poetry-not-just-for-anzac-day

Date: 2016

By: Panni Palásti (Eva Brown) (1932- )

Monday, 28 January 2019

Our Silence by Julian Farmer

Every moment of silence is beautiful.
And then, on the silence, is played
a tune:

something traditional, earthy,
with a lilt, a poise, in the silence,
the simplest tune.

And love is like that…
It plays on the silence, becomes its theme
and conjoins.

Our hearts beat a pulse,
meter the silence, playing the tune
of our years.

From: https://thegalwayreview.com/2016/07/08/julian-farmer-five-poems-translations/

Date: 2016

By: Julian Farmer (19??- )

Friday, 28 December 2018

Sibelius and Marley by Ishion Hutchinson

History is dismantled music; slant,
bleak on gravel. One amasses silence,
another chastises silence with nettles,
stinging ferns. I oscillate in their jaws.

The whole gut listens. The ear winces
white nights in his talons: sinking mire.
He wails and a comet impales the sky
with the duel wink of a wasp’s burning.

Music dismantles history; the flambeaux
inflame in his eyes with a locust plague,
a rough gauze bolting up his mouth unfolds,
so he lashes the air with ropes and roots

that converge on a dreadful zero,
a Golden Age. Somewhere, an old film.
Dusk solders on a cold, barren coast. There
I am a cenotaph of horns and stones.

From: https://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poem/item/28380/auto/0/SIBELIUS-AND-MARLEY

Date: 2016

By: Ishion Hutchinson (1983- )

Saturday, 1 December 2018

Advent by Heather Derr-Smith

Birds pulse above the blood-black line of horizon.
I walk out through the sliding glass door into the backyard,

hoarfrost on the fallen leaves like thrush on a baby’s tongue.

Over the chain-link fence, three bald eagles fight for their kill
on the train tracks. My brother writes a postcard

from someplace near Bagram, fog veiling and unveiling
the Hindu Kush. In a dream he lifts his arm to cover his eyes

and I kiss the top-stitch scars along his mended wound.

In the middle of the night, a child screams awake.
But it’s only the engine of the refrigerator, faintly.

The neighbor is a mystery, a stranger to us. He lives alone,
blinds shut at all times. I suspect what we all suspect.

Sometimes I stand in the dark of my window, facing the dark of his.

From: https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/advent

Date: 2016

By: Heather Derr-Smith (1971- )

Tuesday, 6 November 2018

Willoughby, Ohio by Burt Beckmann

Hot months hang on the horizon drying.
Old moons in a wastebasket lie like eggs,
Their yolks sucked.

The fence (split phone poles) oozes tar by ten.
By noon the birds are stuck.
Mom keeps the cats in the kitchens for the sake
Of the wrens.

The moving is finished by one.
In the red shed with the rototiller
Are our garden shears. Peanut butter
Is what I like for lunch.

Every day at two the birds get clipped.
You can tell our fence by the legs on it.

From: Hiram Poetry Review, Issue No. 77, Spring 2016, p. 8.
(https://hirampoetryreview.files.wordpress.com/2016/05/hpr2016.pdf)

Date: 2016

By: Burt Beckmann (19??- )

Monday, 5 November 2018

Scarecrow on Fire by Dean Young

Everything is brushed away, off the sleeve,
off the overcoat, huge ensembles of assertions
just jars of buttons spilled, recurring
nightmare of straw on fire, you the scarecrow,
the scare, the crow, totems gone, rubies
flawed, flamingo in hyena’s jaws, noble
and lascivious mouth of the gods hovering
then gone, gone the glances, gone moths,
cities of crystal become cities of mud,
centurion and emperor dust, the flower girl,
some of it rises, proof? some of it explodes,
vein in the brain, seed pod poof, maybe
something will grow, another predicament
of bittersweet, dreamfluff milkweed,
declarations of aerosols, vows just sprays
of spit fast evaporate, all of it pulverized
as it hits the seawall, all of it falling snow
on water, flash of flying fish, breach and blow
and sinking, far below creatures of luminous jelly
constellated and darting and baiting each other
like last thoughts before sleep, last neural
sparks coalescing as a face in the dark,
who was she? never enough time to know.

From: http://poetry.auburn.edu/featured-poems/scarecrow-on-fire.html

Date: 2016

By: Dean Young (1955- )

Sunday, 4 November 2018

Night by Andrea Cohen

Someone was talking
quietly of lanterns—

but loud enough
to light my way.

From: https://www.terrain.org/2016/poetry/andrea-cohen/

Date: 2016

By: Andrea Cohen (19??- )

Thursday, 25 October 2018

Quahogs by Frank Xavier Gaspar

It was for the wind as much as anything.
It was for the tidal flats, for the miles of bars
and the freezing runs between them,
blued and darkened in the withering gusts.
For the buckets, for the long-tined rakes.
For our skin burning and the bones
beneath, all their ache. For the bent backs,
for the huddle toward warmth beneath
our incapable layers, how we beat
ourselves with our arms. The breath
we blew, the narrow steam that spun away.
How we searched their tell-draggle marks.
Then the feel of them as we furrowed. Then it
was surgery and force together. Like stones.
Opal or pearl or plain rock, ugly except
they were beautiful, their whorls and
purple stains. The bucket’s wire cutting
with their weight. For the sky blazing, its
sinking orange fire. For the sky’s black streaks
with night rising, winter-sudden. Back,
shoreward, home, the tide creeping like a wolf.
For the little stove warming, its own orange fire.
The old pot, the steam, the air in savor,
the close room, the precious butter, the
blue fingers throbbing, our bodies in all
the customs of weariness, the supper,
succulent of the freezing dark sea come up,
and hunger, its own happiness, its own
domain immeasurable. It was for the hunger.

From: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2016/01/11/quahogs

Date: 2016

By: Frank Xavier Gaspar (1946- )

Sunday, 21 October 2018

Proverbs by Martha Silano

Who knows best a pineapple’s heart? A knife.
Words are good, but fowls lay eggs.
A hungry stomach makes a short prayer.
The first may become the last.

Words are good, but fowls lay eggs
till the moon disappears completely.
The first may become the last.
Little by little grow the bananas.

Till the moon disappears completely,
a new moon cannot rise.
Little by little grow the bananas.
A woman is beautiful until she speaks.

A new moon cannot rise
while a hot needle burns the thread.
A woman is beautiful until she speaks.
If you know what hurts you, you know what hurts me.

While a hot needle burns the thread,
a good buttock finds its own bench.
If you know what hurts you, you know what hurts me.
A bad workman quarrels with his tools.

A good buttock finds its own bench.
Not even a bell rings the same way twice.
A bad workman quarrels with his tools.
The eyes close in sleep, but the pillow lies awake.

Not even a bell rings the same way twice.
The tongue has no bones yet breaks its skull.
The eyes close in sleep, but the pillow lies awake.
After we fry the fat, we’ll see what’s left.

The tongue has no bones yet breaks its skull.
A hungry stomach makes a short prayer.
After we fry the fat, we’ll see what’s left.
Who knows best a pineapple’s heart? A knife.

From: https://www.theawl.com/2016/02/a-poem-by-martha-silano-2/

Date: 2016

By: Martha Silano (1961- )