THE PURE SPRING ~

Raduga, Moscow

1987

WHEN SUN MEETS MOON ~

The University of North Carolina Press

2016

A   REVIEW

A MILLION WINDOWS ~

R E A D      M E

David R. Godine

and as with many Godine books

done in fine papers, gatefold wraps

baskerville type

a pleasure to hold

STONE HUT ~

THE FULL BOOK

W/PHOTOGRAPHS

TO BE SERIALIZED

STARTING NEXT WEEK ~
SEE YOU THEN!

IF I COULD ONLY STAY ASLEEP ~

DARK AS A DUNGEON ~

HONORE SHARRER ~

Photographs by W. Eugene Smith, Life Magazine, 1951

Honore Sharrer

KARL SCHRAG ~

Autumn Wind

I N T E R V I E W

M O R E !

BILL TRAYLOR ~

T R A Y L O R

PIRATE JENNY ~

SECOND CHILDHOOD ~

Dear Hölderlin
                        (for Maureen Owen)



Years ago in a migration

we each carried our own

rug and pillow,

telescope and strings.



Our tent was portable and able

to be dismantled.

It could be rolled

and stuffed very fast.



Flowers and grass

still grew freely and sea-lilac

had already cracked

the tarmac. So there was sustenance.



At the estuary nearby

two continents had split apart

and a curlew

flew alone and crying.



Carefully a book

would be buried

with iodine and wine

and food that doesn't rot.



The cross is a good marker

for an avenue and white clover,

trampled where little

sweet pea is growing higher.



Down the hill comes a poet

with ginger hair, he puts

violets inside his hat,

herbs and water and says:



There was once music here,

a round table

and gang prayer

and an exploding glacier.



Women kept each tent clean

until one cried,

I'm going to take care

of myself.



We heard her packing

the woods into her tote

like a nymph

managing a shipwreck.



After all, for us all

empathy was our only hope.



————————
Fanny Howe
Second Childhood
Graywolf Press 2014

THE WORLD-ENDING FIRE ~

R E A D      M E

Counterpoint

2017

COULD BE ~

It Is Now The Birds Settle

You would walk

Upstairs to our room

In the early evening

So warm

Undress, while looking to the woods

Lie down

Hours later

I would find you this way

Could Be

This has to be love —

she could be anywhere else

she could be under soft quilts asleep

she could be in a warm kitchen stirring

she could be in a playground watching what she loves

she could be in the garden dreaming

she could be walking the dog, petting the cat, singing with a bird

she could be by the ocean with all the day ahead

she could be in another's arms but no

she could be and is in my arms

beneath the driftwood of huge trees brought down with a flood

this little cave we've made under horizontal trees

it looks possibly dangerous and if it all collapsed

we would be crushed

and she has joined me there

while it rains

In A Cabin, In A Wood

It’s a good day —

my work boots are off

socks too

I have rolled up

5 inch cuffs

on my jeans

I’m in a short sleeve

green shirt

no belt

we cut the grass

now heavenly

barefoot

my love is wild ex-

cept for the sun dress

she’s thrown on

waiting for a rain

that never does

come

we draw buckets of

water for new plants

from the farm pond

cordwood

we cut crackles dry

in all this sun

let the satellites that

circle the earth

try to find this

—————————————

BOB ARNOLD

I'm In Love With You

Who Is In Love With Me

Longhouse 2012

 

ANITA O' DAY SINGS THE WINNERS ~

BOZ SCAGGS ~

FATHER'S ON THE PHONE WITH THE FLIES ~

R E A D      M E

A N D      M E

A N D    Y O U     M A Y

A S      W E L L     R E A D      M E






I've yet to read a book from Seagull
that hasn't kept me



H E R E'S      O N E     M O R E

PIOTR SOMMER ~

Other Half

Thank you, I managed to get a seat

on the right side, on the side of the river

which attracts the overflowing shoreline.

With the sign Riverside and overgrown

rocks, the red-brick building.

With the sign Yonkers which turns

gently to the left, then disappears.

Thank you, I can watch. With the bridge

which we have laid from here

to the other shore, in the vicinity of Tarrytown,

with its almost imperceptible embankment.

And yet, the river sometimes appears

at the tracks, as a reminder,

and the steep hills on the other side,

unmoving, nod, the light alone

moved by their fate. And by

the river's? — take your eye off it

for a second — it gets away

at Croton-Harmon, under track three

at platform two.

                           If on the other side

I'd watch the houses, roads, the trees

stripped of their leaves, but shining

with this delayed December light, because

it's January now — here and there shadows

adhere on the trunks. On the rocks at Poughkeepsie

I could study the icicles because the sun

hadn't broken all the ice yet

and January is snowless. And the light,

bouncing off the water's surface, even

through the tinted windows, draws

my inattention. Because the river has

widened again and the power lines help it

not to lose the way. Thank you. I managed

once again to get a seat on the right side,

even though the far shore turns away and

floats out of sight somewhere to the left then

returns, straightforward, and the hills

stand just over the water soft strong,

not hills, cliffs.

                         But then on the river bottom, too,

things shift, the terrain changes,

the water's temper wavers. At Rhinecliff

the water's cooling down, as in that other Rhine, so

all the sun's for nothing. The water or the river? Am I

my body, am I my eye that's also

cooling but sees further off:

mountains and, right here, the ice flow?

And there's another bridge, frail, bright-dark

above the ice, with cars easing

into the air so clear and uncountable

that you don't know how to return

to a place full of individual days

and dreams that don't have time to take

like buds in April after a late freeze.

Thank you, today I sat on the right side,

on the side of the birds who don't feel the chill

and sit, feathered, on the water, paddle, flap,

look for food.

(1994, 2002)

—————————————————

Piotr Sommer

Continued

Wesleyan 2005