While Fussell wrote on a wide variety of subjects over his long life—ranging from Augustan humanism, Samuel Johnson, and Kingsley Amis to the 2nd Amendment, the Indianapolis 500, and travel in between-the-wars Europe—war, the irony of war, the suffering and lunacy and permanent damage of war, the unfairness of war, lay at the heart of his writing and of his being.
He ponders composing an ode
to his long time sidekick Death, but as his
own departure draws near their friendship
has grown problematic.
Here is the little tramp, standing
On a stack of books in order
To reach the microphone
Where is the bronze statue to the drunk
who shared a cell
in the Concord jail with Thoreau?
Have you ever felt awe and exhilaration while contemplating a vista of jagged, snow-capped mountains? Or been fascinated but also a bit unsettled while beholding a thunderous waterfall such as … Continue reading
Bart Plantenga: Jose Padua’s Poems — Where The Length Of The Titles Are, If Not Everything, At Least Something To Amuse Or Amaze
There’s no disputing it: Jose Padua writes some of the most meaningful poems being written today about today. They are DIY soulful and this is especially important in a world … Continue reading
Meet me in the white space between the words, where the language of tongues has no boundary, and end sheets frame the rooting around. We’ll dance the iambic dance, frolic … Continue reading
He likes to repeat to himself a phrase from a Keats letter: I will clamber through the clouds and exist. It steadies him like leaning against trees, or brewing coffee … Continue reading
Out of sore feet, out of roadsides sooted with dusk, out of gravel, jeweled crumbs of shattered glass, out of the wide gesture of the hand toward heaven, out … Continue reading
My poems, whatever their other springs may be, flow from the meter of my inner voice in creative conflict with an ineradicable sob. When my breathing is interrupted by a … Continue reading
White cups floating above the waters in their cut-glass vase, The tulips have finally opened, while beside her— Pittsburgh, winter—windows shimmer with freezing rain. It’s the morning after the … Continue reading