Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 400,000 monthly users. Over 6,000 archived posts.

John Balaban: Anna Akhmatova Spends the Night on Miami Beach

What killed her was the talk, the empty eyes,
which made her long for the one person in ten thousand
who could say her name, who could take her home,
giving her a place between Auden and Apollinaire

August 23, 2022 · 10 Comments

Kim Stafford: Top Hit

But comrades, if we kill him, someone will make
a martyr song and it will become the anthem sung
by thousands in the streets

April 14, 2022 · 1 Comment

Nina Kossman: Three Poems About a Head (3)

Yet you keep saying:
“I’ve lost my head for the love of my son,
I cannot find it anywhere!”
Well, then live without it.
Your son is lost to you and it is not your fault

April 10, 2022 · Leave a comment

Mary Jane White: “A Late Reply” by Anna Akhmatova

Distract me, my native fields,
From all that has happened to me,
The abyss that swallowed my loved ones

March 18, 2022 · 1 Comment

Nina Kossman: Three Poems about a Head (Two)

If you cut off your right hand and bury it in the garden,
it will grow into a little daughter with wings instead of arms.

February 27, 2022 · 1 Comment

Mary Jane White: “For You” by Marina Tsvetaeva

For you, I dissolve a handful of
Burnt hair in the glass.
So you will not eat, not sing,
Not drink, not sleep.

February 18, 2022 · Leave a comment

Nina Kossman: Three Poems About a Head (1)

And you, who came in here wearing rings,
but without your head,
leave your rings by the door,
and put your head on

January 30, 2022 · 4 Comments

Yana Djin: “Doctorow” by Dmitry Melnikoff

Doctorow comes out onto the dark shore,
holding a hand over his worn-out heart

April 21, 2021 · Leave a comment

Yana Djin: The Dead Don’t Die | The Poetry of Dmitry Melnikoff

And they lie at the edge of light alone
at the place where snow never hits
Kahlo embraces Diego’s barebone
and they emanate heat.

April 3, 2021 · Leave a comment

Marina Tsvetaeva: Thank God for the Rich

For their root, putrid and loose,
For their weeping-wound from the cradle,
For their perplexing habit of taking
More from my pocket into their pocket.

January 22, 2021 · 2 Comments

Anna Akhmatova: I am not one of those who left the land 

I am not one of those who left the land
to the mercy of its enemies.
Their flattery leaves me cold.
My songs are not for them to praise.

October 19, 2018 · Leave a comment

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