Tag Archives: American Poets

Calmly we walk through this April’s day

CALMLY WE WALK THROUGH THIS APRIL’S DAY Delmore Schwartz Calmly we walk through this April’s day, Metropolitan poetry here and there, In the park sit pauper and rentier, The screaming children, the motor-car Fugitive about us, running away, Between the worker … Continue reading

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Be angry at the sun for setting

BE ANGRY AT THE SUN Robinson Jeffers That public men publish falsehoods Is nothing new. That America must accept Like the historical republics corruption and empire Has been known for years. Be angry at the sun for setting If these … Continue reading

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forever making poems in the lap of death

Humanity I Love You Humanity i love you because you would rather black the boots of success than enquire whose soul dangles from his watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both parties and because you unflinchingly applaud all songs containing … Continue reading

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Who remembers that famous day and year

On this day in 1807, the poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine. During his lifetime, Longfellow’s poetry enjoyed extraordinary popularity at home and abroad. Many of his poems served as standard recitation pieces in American schools well … Continue reading

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Dream within a Dream

Happy Birthday, Edgar Allan Poe A Dream Within A Dream   by Edgar Allan Poe (published 1850)    Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow — You are not wrong, … Continue reading

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Living in a Simulation

Tom Clark (1941-2018)  

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Many prophets have failed

 

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The forest knows where you are

 

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Stare hard enough at the fabric of night

FIELD OF SKULLS Mary Karr Stare hard enough at the fabric of night, and if you’re predisposed to dark—let’s say the window you’ve picked is a black postage stamp you spend hours at, sleepless, drinking gin after the I Love Lucy reruns … Continue reading

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trembling with the same cicada sound

Here in the Northeastern U.S. we are experiencing the emergence of a brood of 17-year cicadas. Sitting in my garden listening to the noisy insects, I was reminded of this very short piece by the late American poet W.S. Merwin: … Continue reading

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