Bhikshuni Vimala: At the Foot of the Tree
My mother taught me how to sell my youth for money and some sense of power, just as her mother had taught her. At our front door, I answered the … Continue reading
Marco North: A Pregnant Moon
A backyard. The low chirp of cicadas. The sweet smell of burning wood and wet earth, and a certain hushed silence. All as foreign as a trip to Mars.
Jessica Temple: Cad Dockery
He died at 80 of natural causes,
but rather than call the coroner,
his wife decided to bury him herself.
Thomas A. Thomas: In a Time
It is the month of our first walk along the salt
shore together, and of my beloved’s first illness,
harbinger of worse to come, month of our lost
mortgage, of bankruptcy, August of learning
Joy Gaines-Friedler: Domestic Violence
When she said,
this wasn’t supposed to happen to me,
a tray crashed—I heard someone laugh
(at my own failed marriage?)
Video: Rediscovering Ancient Greek Music
Armand D’Angour has spent years re-discovering the mysterious sounds of Ancient Greek music. In 2017, his work culminated in a unique performance at Oxford.
Rachel Hadas: Lessons of Poetry
It is easier to lecture about the time and place of a book, the culture that produced it, the special historical or linguistic problems involved in it. It is harder…to face the book as a masterpiece and to help the student understand why it is a masterpiece….
Patricia Jabbeh Wesley: In the Other World
Our beloved lay down and then eloped
to that other world.
Gregory Djanikian: What I Can Tell You
I can tell you that the women
halfway to the olive groves one morning
must have heard a chatter of birds
and the foot soldiers coming.
Jose Padua: In Proclamation to the Emperors of Agony
Seeing an audience in Central Park holding up their middle fingers in unison is one of my fondest memories—even though I wasn’t among those for whom the finger was intended.
H.D. (Hilda Doolittle): The Walls Do Not Fall
tendons, muscles shattered, outer husk dismembered,
yet the frame held:
we passed the flame: we wonder
what saved us? what for?
Robert Okaji: Something Felt
The way a wren’s cry at dawn
creases the air, then folds it
into a poem of comfort
Michael Simms: A Conversation with Poet Robert Gibb
‘Having started out as a painter I’ve never lost the sense that I’m working on something that has a tangible existence, separate from my own, and that what matters most isn’t content but the expression of it.’
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Parentage
I’m from the ocean’s melancholy, dragging
its anchors back & forth, never quiet, never
still, waves so restless they can’t mirror the moon.
