Tag Archives: American Poets

“Practice resurrection. Part of who you are is who you will be.”

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front by Wendell Berry Love the quick profit, the annual raise, vacation with pay. Want more of everything ready-made. Be afraid to know your neighbors and to die. And you will have a window in … Continue reading

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Dial-A-Poem is back just when we need it

Dial-A-Poem is back!  SPIN Magazine explains that Dial-A-Poem was created in 1969 by New York City “multimedia performance poet” John Giorno as way to give people access to the poems of a “free zone of radical poets and socio-political activists,” … Continue reading

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I go unrecognized in paradise

Dean Young — “Scherzo”

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not to have entirely wasted one’s life seems to be a worthy accomplishment

Like many writers from working-class backgrounds, Charles Bukowski suffered through numerous mind-numbing jobs before he found success as a full-time author. In his thirties, he took a position as a fill-in mailman for the U.S. Postal Service. By his late … Continue reading

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Happiness is the uncle you never knew about

Happiness By Jane Kenyon There’s just no accounting for happiness, or the way it turns up like a prodigal who comes back to the dust at your feet having squandered a fortune far away. And how can you not forgive? You … Continue reading

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It Goes On

by Lyn Lifshin  

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Or so the story goes.

When the light goes out, and the book is set down by the bedside, it all comes flooding in: the story you are reading; the story of the day; the understanding that it is a story, the day now past, … Continue reading

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Oh Summer’s Day

Emily Dickinson, “The Bee is not afraid of me”  

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August arrives in the dark…etc.

“But most urgent on my list of appreciation are those of you who have welcomed my tunes into your lives, into your kitchens when you’re doing the dishes, in your bedrooms, in your courting and conceiving, into those nights of … Continue reading

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The house was quiet and the world was calm

The House Was Quiet and The World Was Calm By Wallace Stevens The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book; and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book. The house was quiet … Continue reading

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