Here I want to call attention to three mature poets who have done extraordinary work, but have not, in my opinion, received the attention they deserve, and in the process explore different ways one can be an “outsider” in the poetry field.
On Waterloo Bridge, where we said our goodbyes,
the weather conditions bring tears to my eyes.
I wipe them away with a black woolly glove
And try not to notice I’ve fallen in love.
The ghastly body swaying in the sun:
The women thronged to look, but never a one
Showed sorrow in her eyes of steely blue
Much stomach-churning, history-revising hoopla surrounded Kissinger’s 100th birthday last week.
In Ma’arra, the poet Abul ‘Ala
Was called a death-worthy infidel
And a thousand years after his death
His statue was beheaded.
Will truth and reason survive the evolution of artificial intelligence? AI researcher Gary Marcus says no, not if untrustworthy technology continues to be integrated into our lives at such dangerously high speeds.
Each day, we must learn
again how to love, between morning’s quick coffee
and evening’s slow return.
Desperate for an assertive American task, people will grasp at some very wretched straws.
I grow more and more reminiscent, it seems, though that’s a relative assessment. Like my old poetic hero Wordsworth, I opted for an elegiac tone very young in my writing … Continue reading →
Like the sweet-apple reddening high on the branch,
High on the highest, the apple-pickers forgot,
Or not forgotten, but one they couldn’t reach…
Turns out, being able to laugh at something increases our ability to understand it—and take action.
Pulling ticks is not for the faint at heart.
America’s history of redlining and other forms of housing discrimination means that climate change and the Black community are on a deadly collision course.
Those free-floating cabezas—
on song-strung shores
are always ready to party.