Often I wake in the night, or the cat wakes me, and since I have been trying to break the habit of reaching for my phone—that express route to “the portal” (per Patricia Lockwood)—what do I do? Sometimes a yoga-inspired (and undoubtedly inauthentic) body...
If a rolling stone gathers no moss, the poems in Devin Johnston’s Mosses and Lichens attend to what accretes over time, as well as to what erodes. They often take place in the middle of life’s journey, at the edge of the woods,...
The idea for this collection of one hundred poems is not a new one. My father himself had contemplated such a book, particularly in later years, and had gone as far as discussing it with his editor and close confidants. The notion of a...
FSG’s poetry list for 2019 celebrates voices old and new, from Seamus Heaney to Katie Peterson. These are poems that interrogate today’s politics and anger—that reinvigorate and offer clarity, singing “the music of what happens.” Published A Piece of Good News by Katie...
As diverse as our stories may be poets are nevertheless in the process of creating a single art, some trace of what we were able to accomplish with our language before we inevitably canceled each other out. Eventually, through lurking, inescapable age, or cataclysm,...
Some years ago, a friend wrote to me admiring what he called at the time my “bivalve poems.” I thought he meant how a lot of the poems in my new book consisted of two stanzas of equal length, and that was partly true....
Find an example of wood with your eyes. The floorboards, a door, trim around the window, cutting board, kitchen table, the sycamore there. Imagine it against your knuckles as you rap on it. Feel how hard. Hear the knock. Now, add time. Not that...
As an academic philosopher and the author of many books of poetry, I’m often asked about the relationship between poetry and philosophy. What I’ve usually said in the past is something along these lines: Philosophy and poetry can both be ways of responding to...
For as long as I can remember, I have composed poems from the bits of language revolving in my head when no more pressing thoughts intrude. While out for a walk or running an errand, a phrase or stanza might start up and repeat...
In those days I began to see light under every bushel basket, light nearly splitting the sides of the bushel basket. Light came through the rafters of the dairy where the grackles congregated like well-taxed citizens untransfigured even by hope. Understand I was the one underneath the basket. I was...
“Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads.” —Marianne Moore The best time of year is here again—happy National Poetry Month! Celebrate all month with exclusive Work in Progress features, from essays to conversations to poetry excerpts, honoring the inspiring poets who...
Poet, essayist, playwright, and social critic T. S. Eliot was one of the defining voices of the 20th century and an integral part of the Modernist movement. He won the Nobel Prize in literature in 1948 "for his outstanding, pioneer contribution to present-day poetry."...
Pablo Neruda wrote a total of 225 odes. The number stands as a pledge of alliance with a lyrical form he adored. He was also fond of other poetic forms (the sonnet, for instance), but as a practitioner of verso libre, unrhymed poetry, the...
June 5th was the 120th anniversary of renowned Spanish poet and playwright Federico García Lorca’s birth. Lorca was born in 1898 in Fuente Vaqueros, a few miles outside Granada in the region of Andalusia in southern Spain. From an early age he was fascinated...
I am thirteen. My mom and I are walking down a hallway in the wing of a San Francisco art museum and pass an auditorium. I can hear a voice on the other side of the door, loud, accented, lilting and rolling and sure...
The first poem I remember—really, it is the first poem I remember remembering—began: In a dark park a tree barked And a crocus croaked I watched my watch… At least, I think that was it, but I lost the book years ago, and I don’t know who wrote...
“Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio” In the Shreve High football stadium, I think of the Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville, And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood, And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel, Dreaming of heroes. All the proud fathers are ashamed...
“we dead stand undefended everywhere” —James Wright How did the Silver Jews have it? Punk rock died when the first kid said / “punk’s not dead.” This may be true of poetry, too. I die a little, in any case, whenever one of those mid-career In...
When I was first asked to write on this subject, I imagined discussing what I’ve learned from such poets as Cavafy, Olds, and Bidart, when it comes in particular to the body and desire and where that desire can lead and how to speak...
I was an undergrad, it was my junior year, and a poetry workshop (the teacher was famous and beloved, a darling, and I wanted to be a darling like that (like that? I should say, like her, because she was a person, not an...