If At First…

Walt Whitman, three-quarter length portrait, seated, facing right, wearing hat, circa 1887 Published in The United States Review in September 1855, an appreciation of the poet Walt Whitman’s collection Leaves of Grass opened by exclaiming: ‘An American bard at last! … his voice bringing hope and prophecy to the generous races of young and old.’ Unusually, the author of... Continue Reading →

I Wanna Be Yours

I wanna be your vacuum cleanerBreathing in your dustI wanna be your Ford CortinaI will never rustIf you like your coffee hotLet me be your coffee potYou call the shotsI wanna be yours I wanna be your raincoatFor those frequent rainy daysI wanna be your dreamboatWhen you want to sail awayLet me be your teddy... Continue Reading →

Still. A.R. Ammons

I said I will find what is lowly and put the roots of my identity down there: each day I’ll wake up and find the lowly nearby, a handy focus and reminder, a ready measure of my significance, the voice by which I would be heard, the wills, the kinds of selfishness I could freely... Continue Reading →

Ode To Spring. R. Burns

WHEN maukin bucks, at early fucks,In dewy glens are seen, Sir;And birds, on boughs, take off their mows,Amang the leaves sae green, Sir;Latona’s sun looks liquorish onDame Nature’s grand impetus,Till his pego rise, then westward fliesTo roger Madame Thetis. Yon wandering rill that marks the hill,And glances o'er the brae, Sir,Slides by a bower where... Continue Reading →

Mowing

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound—And that was why it whispered and did not speak.It was no dream... Continue Reading →

Wind (after last night’s storm)

This house has been far out at sea all night,The woods crashing through darkness, the booming hills,Winds stampeding the fields under the windowFloundering black astride and blinding wet Till day rose; then under an orange skyThe hills had new places, and wind wieldedBlade-light, luminous black and emerald,Flexing like the lens of a mad eye. At... Continue Reading →

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