Good Clean Fun
My friend Te Martin shared this photo of a Diane di Prima broadside she encountered on her travels…
Category: Poets
Cultivating Avidity
Books of poetry will teach you more than your mentor or professor or the well-known poet you have traveled to a conference to work with. Reading is like food to a writer; without it, the…
The Endless Net
Ten years ago, I read Eliot Weinberger’s anthology, World Beat: International Poetry Now (New Directions, 2006). Looking back, I’m grateful, because that volume (re)introduced me to Israeli Aharon Shabtai, Iraqi Dunya Mikhail, and Chilean Nicanor…
On Daniel Berrigan
1. Some of Daniel Berrigan’s Whitmanian multitudes: Brother, uncle, jailbird, correspondent, chef, Jesuit, retreat master, playwright poet, peacemaker, mentor, reader, teacher, prophet, son, friend, logophile. 2. In our age they they talk about the importance…
Note to Cami on Reznikoff
I read Reznikoff in summer of 2010 As much as I could find Used, at Amazon By him, about him I like his spare style That was the year I was generating a piece a…
The Good News, 3.3.2017
The Good News is … In 2016 Lindsey Trout Hughes took three on-line writing classes with me, and—to her surprise and my delight— embraced her poetic vocation. She has graced me with epic emails, and scintillating…
Poem of the Day: Bertolt Brecht
Those who take the meat from the table Teach contentment. Those for whom the taxes are destined Demand sacrifice. Those who eat their fill speak to the hungry Of wonderful times to come. Those who…
Let’s Not Wait Till We’re Dead
Over poetry, you didn’t gush. You read it. You read it with the tongue. You lived it. You felt how it moved you, changed you. How it contributed to giving your own life a form,…
Hold It All/37
In the last thirty years of his life, [Jacob] Glatshteyn’s poetry became an incessant, internalized conversation on Jewish history, the lost world of European Jewry, the birth of Israel, assimilation in America, the tragic demise…
A Poem by Yael Diplacido-Eastman
A week after your death I’m on my hot pink bike Seeing every wooly caterpillar On its way across my path The trees above are leaning forward Lamenting with a dance of Falling leaves Their…