… what if a much of a which of a wind gives the truth to summer’s lie; bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun and yanks immortal stars awry? Blow king to beggar and queen to seem (blow friend to fiend: … Continue reading

… what if a much of a which of a wind gives the truth to summer’s lie; bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun and yanks immortal stars awry? Blow king to beggar and queen to seem (blow friend to fiend: … Continue reading
… Entre sombra y espacio, entre guarniciones y doncellas, dotado de corazón singular y sueños funestos, precipitadamente pálido, marchito en la frente y con luto de viudo furioso por cada día de vida, ay, para cada agua invisible que bebo … Continue reading
… These poetry vimeos featuring the poets reading from their works ought to be a useful tool for any English or writing teacher. I took the readings from The Caedmon Collection Recordings and added the texts and other visuals hoping … Continue reading
… Souvent, pour s’amuser, les hommes d’équipagePrennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers,Qui suivent, indolents compagnons de voyage,Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers. À peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches,Que ces rois de l’azur, maladroits et honteux,Laissent piteusement … Continue reading
… I wanted to make a video poem out of the Caedmon recording of Gertrude Stein reciting If I Told Him. In late May, shortly before it closed, I saw the Stein show at the Met and filmed some of … Continue reading
… Was Robert Frost chained resolutely to the laws of metrics? “Iamb the iamb,” he said. As strictly as The Tuft of Flowers sticks to form (couplets of iambic pentameter), in the reading Frost changes words: the instead of a … Continue reading
….. In 1968 at the age of 19, I was waiting for inspiration’s kiss when I was supposed to be the one doing the kissing, but I didn’t know that until I found The Waste Land on a dusty shelf … Continue reading
… Today, Monday, February 22, Edna St. Vincent Millay, had she lived, would have been 124. I was a little over a year old when she died. In my youth I swear I read somewhere that she had a heart … Continue reading
… On the R subway platform going north at Whitehall Street there is a girder whose peeling paint looked to me like a camel; it inspired me to recite Harlem by Langston Hughes although you won’t get to Harlem riding … Continue reading
… … Sandpiper The roaring alongside he takes for granted, and that every so often the world is bound to shake. He runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward, in a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake. … Continue reading
… One night after a poetry reading, Gregroy Corso and I argued about who was the better poet, Shelley or Keats. Gregory thought Shelley was better because according to him Shelley represented the Romantic ideal more perfectly than Keats did. … Continue reading
… I was looking for the little chapbook, Pomes Penyeach, by James Joyce that I bought in the seventies at Middle Earth Books in Philly, but I can’t find it. I really have had a hankering for the Pomes. This … Continue reading