Linda Stern: At the Jetty
You climbed the jetty leading to the sea,
and I hung back to let you try your skill
at navigating life apart from me
though you were not so far I could not still
reach for you if you slipped and fell.
Rachel Hadas: Two Poems
One sight that sticks with me is the tail
of a blue phoenix soaring on a tile
from fifteenth-century Turkey. I couldn’t draw it
worth a damn, but gazed until I knew it.
I used the pencil in my hand to see.
Rachel Hadas: Pastorals
Its title is Red Comet, but the book itself is more like a long freight train, a slow train, a train crammed with information, a train that stops at every station, not to let anyone out but to take more in.
Rachel Hadas: ‘Each bears his own ghosts’
How the classics speak to these days of fear, anger and presidential candidates stalking the land
Rachel Hadas: Ghost Guest
I sometimes think I recognize the face
of my own death. Knowing it is nearer
makes me feel it ought to be familiar,
a neutral guest I’ve seen somewhere before.
Rachel Hadas: Sustainable Systems
Hummingbirds in the bee balm. Scattered showers.
What rubric, what barometer, what headline?
Rachel Hadas: 460 Riverside Drive
What ghostly messenger
was rattling away unseen
on the other side of the door?
Rachel Hadas: Rainbow Parfait
…to be the archaeologist of one’s own past,
as if the sleeper, wakened now, alert,
was perched at the top of a trench
peering at something shining down below