When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses… We must never forget that art is not a form of propaganda; it is a form of truth. — John F. Kennedy
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) A Light exists in SpringNot present on the YearAt any other period-When March is scarcely hereA Color stands abroadOn Solitary FieldsThat Science cannot overtakeBut Human Nature feels.It waits upon the Lawn,It shows the furthest TreeUpon the furthest Slope you knowIt almost speaks to you.Then as …
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Ada Limón (March 28, 1976 -) Enough of osseous and chickadee and sunflowerand snowshoes, maple and seeds, samara and shoot,enough chiaroscuro, enough of thus and prophecyand the stoic farmer and faith and our father and tisof thee, enough of bosom and bud, skin and godnot forgetting and star bodies and frozen birds,enough of the will …
William Wordsworth (April 07, 1770 – April 23, 1850) I have thoughts that are fed by the sun:The things which I seeAre welcome to me,Welcome every one –I do not wish to lieDead, dead,Dead, without any company.Here alone on my bedWith thoughts that are fed by the sun,And hopes that are welcome every one,Happy am …
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Grace Paley (December 11, 1922 – August 22, 2007) Here I am in the garden laughingan old woman with sagging breastsand a nicely mapped face how did this happenwell that’s who I wanted to be a last a womanin the old style sittingstout thighs apart undera big skirt …
Eavan Frances Boland (September 24, 1944 – April 27, 2020) She loved silver, she loved gold,my mother. She spoke about the influenceof metals, the congruence of atoms,the art classes where she learnedthese things: think of itshe would say as she told meto gild any surface a master craftsmanhad to meld gold with mercury,had to heat …
Jane Hirshfield (February 24, 1953 -) “On Being the Right Size,” Haldane’s short essay is titled.An ants’ nest can be found at the top of a redwood.No bird that weighs less than—No insect more than—The minimum mass for a whale, for a language, an ice cap.In a human-sized room,someone is setting a human-sized table with …
Audre Lorde (February 18, 1934 – November 17, 1992) In the street outside a schoolwhat the children learnpossesses them.Little boys yell as they stone a flock of beestrying to swarmbetween the lunchroom window and an iron grate.The boys sling furious rockssmashing the windows.The bees, buzzing their anger,are slow to attack.Then one boy is stunginto quicker …
Anis Mojgani (June 13, 1977 -) You get into the shower and askWill you keep me company?I sit on the toilet’s lidand while you wash yourself and waterat the same time the ferns the spider plantthe pathos vining over the tilemarveling out loud how you loveto water them while showeringI read to you from a …
Nikki Giovanni (June 07, 1943 -) This is my first memory:A big room with heavy wooden tables that sat on a creaky wood floorA line of green shades—bankers’ lights—down the centerHeavy oak chairs that were too low or maybe I was simply too short For me to sit in and readSo my first book was always big In …
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Oliver de la Paz When I look at it, it’s simple, really. I hated life there. September,once filled with animal deaths and toughened hay. And the smellsof fall were boiled-down beets and potatoesor the farmhands’ breeches smeared with oil and dieselas they rode into town, dusty and pissed. The radio stationsplit time between metal and …
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Donald Hall (September 20, 1928 – June 23, 2018) Pale gold of the walls, goldof the centers of daisies, yellow rosespressing from a clear bowl. All daywe lay on the bed, my handstroking the deepgold of your thighs and your back.We slept and wokeentering the golden room together,lay down in it breathingquickly, thenslowly again,caressing and …
James Ragan (1944 -) I don’t know how long I can play with a sloth,how long I can wait to time his glidealong a space no wider than his bulbous face,as if the air had softened long enough to sloweach arm’s motion to an easy slide,as if by committing each inch of legto a longer …
Lisel Mueller (February 8, 1924–February 21, 2020) In Sleeping Beauty’s castlethe clock strikes one hundred yearsand the girl in the tower returns to the world.So do the servants in the kitchen,who don’t even rub their eyes.The cook’s right hand, liftedan exact century ago,completes its downward arcto the kitchen boy’s left ear;the boy’s tensed vocal cordsfinally …
Averno (Avernus) is a small crater lake ten miles west of Naples, Italy which was regarded by the ancient Romans as the entrance to the underworld. Louise Elisabeth Glück (April 22, 1943 -) You die when your spirit dies.Otherwise, you live.You may not do a good job of it, but you go on —something you …
Faith Shearin After he could no longer speak with them,after the warm garden had a draft,and Adam found himself naked and mortal,after his wife was made from his owncage of love, and after she introducedhim to the snake that offered its famousadvice, after all these things, God askedAdam to name the animals. Eve wouldbring forth …
Ricardo Eliécer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto (July 12, 1904 – September 23, 1973), better known by his nickname later, legal name Pablo Neruda A man says yes without knowinghow to decide even what the question is,and is caught up, and then is carried alongand never again escapes from his own cocoon;and that’s how we are, forever …
William Carlos Williams (September 17, 1883 – March 4, 1963) Sorrow is my own yardwhere the new grassflames as it has flamedoften before but notwith the cold firethat closes round me this year.Thirty-five yearsI lived with my husband.The plum tree is white todaywith masses of flowers.Masses of flowersload the cherry branchesand color some bushesyellow and …
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Aria Aber The aunts here clink Malbec glassesand parade their grief with musky, expensive scentsthat whisper in elevators and hallways.Each natural passing articulatesthe unnatural: every aunt has a sonwho fell, or a daughter who hid in rubblefor two years, until that knock of officersholding a bin bag filled with a dressand bones. But what do …
Michelle Boisseau (October 26, 1955 - November 15, 2017) In the middle of my life I lost my way. I knew my turn was coming, coming around the bend. And there it was.The crows calling over the shoulders of trees stretched the space wider and wider like the circles a focaldragonfly …
Camille Rankine What have ITo say in my wrong tongueOf what is gone To know something isLost but what You have forgotten whatYou long forgot If I amWhat survives I am here but I am notMuch of anything at all To be what’s leftAnd all the rest scooped outAnd dropped into the sea My fleshForming …
Jane Hirshfield (February 24, 1953 -) The glass doorknobs turn no differently.But every DecemberI polish them with vinegar water and cotton.Another year ends.This one, I ate Kyoto picklesand touched, in Xi’an, a stone turtle’s face,cold as stone, as turtle.I could not read the fortune carved into its shellor hear what it had raised its headto …
Naomi Shihab Nye (March 12, 1952 -) Stripped of a sense of well-being,we downed our water from small disposable bottles.Casting the plastic to streetside,we poured high-potency energy tonics or Cokedown our throats, because this time in historyhad sapped us so thoroughly andwe were desperate.Straws, plastic caps, crushed cans,in a three-block walk you could fill a …
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Chana Bloch (March 15, 1940 – May 19, 2017) I made a big wish on the evening star,Venus, or was it Mars,but it was a low-flying planeheaded east.I saw the little foxes on the hillsidewith their pointy red ears;up close, a fallen branch of autumn.When the guide clapped his hands,the brilliant apples on the tree …
Glyn Maxwell (1962 - ) Woken again by nothing, with this linealready in my wake, I thought of youat twenty, as you are—which passed somehowwhile I was staring—thought how yesterdayyou said you wanted to be young again,which left me with this nothing left to saythat’s woken me. You are, you are—what elsedoes father wail to …
Clint Margrave No one makes himtake his shoes off at securityor asks to see his boarding pass.There are no bags to checkbecause baggage is strictly for the living.No windows on the planebecause there’s nothing to see.No seatbelts becausethere’s nothing to impact.The flight attendantsattend to nothing.And though there are delays,there are never any cancellations.No one greets …
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (February 27, 1807 – March 24, 1882) In the long, sleepless watches of the night,A gentle face—the face of one long dead—Looks at me from the wall, where round its headThe night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.Here in this room she died; and soul more whiteNever through martyrdom of fire was …
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David St. John (July 24, 1949 -) There had beenA microphone hiddenBeneath the bedOf course I didn’t realize itAt the time & in factDidn’t know for yearsUntil one day a standardKhaki book mailerArrived & within itAn oldStained cassette tapeSimply labelled in black marker“Him / Me / September, 1975”& as I listened I knew somethingHad been …
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Robert Wrigley (1951 -) We are at or near that approximate linewhere a stiff breeze becomesor lapses from a considerable wind,and I like it here, the chimney smokesright-angled from west to east but stillfor brief intact stretchesthe plush animal tails of their fires.I like how the stiffness rouses the birdsright up until what’s considerable sends …
Yona Harvey I thought she escapedThe floodwaters. No—but her Four tickets left, I let her go—Firstborn into a hurricane. Head is empty of the drownedFor now—though she took Her first breath below sea level.Ahhh awe & awMama, let me go—she speaks What every smart child knows—To get grown you unlatch Your hands from the grown& …
Transformation literally means going beyond your form. — Wayne Dyer
The truest philosophy, is not to long for anything in particular, but to accept everything as it comes, and find out the reason of it coming. — Marie Corelli
...If one looks long enough at almost anything, looks with absolute attention at a flower, a stone, the bark of a tree, grass, snow, a cloud, something like revelation takes place. — May Sarton
The most we can do is to write — intelligently, creatively, evocatively — about what it is like living in the world at this time. — Oliver Sacks
When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses... We must never forget that art is not a form of propaganda; it is a form of truth. — John F. Kennedy
