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In the White Sky, a Poem by William Stafford

"Many things in the world have
already happened. You can
go back and tell about them.
They are part of what we
own as we speed along
through the white sky.

But many things in the world
haven't yet happened.
....."
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Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees
Reading a bad poem is like having a bad dream: You can't/ ask for your money back." Richard Jackson, Resonance, "Fines Doubled in Work Zone
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Philip Levine, Former U.S. Poet Laureate Who Won Pulitzer, Dies at 87

Philip Levine, Former U.S. Poet Laureate Who Won Pulitzer, Dies at 87 | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it
Mr. Levine’s work was vibrantly, angrily and often painfully alive with the sound, smell and sinew of heavy manual labor.
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Trias Reading - Tomaž Šalamun (11/25/13) - YouTube

Considered Slovenia's greatest living poet, Tomaž Šalamun was born in Zagreb in 1941 and lives in Ljubljana, Slovenia. He is one of the foremost figures of the Eastern European avant-garde in poetry. He is revered by many American poets for his unique surrealistic style. His books have been translated into twenty-one languages, and nine of his thirty-seven books of poetry have been published in English. His first collection, Poker, was published when he was only twenty-five. His most recent collections are There's the Hand and There's the Arid Chair, The Blue Tower, The Book for My Brother; Row, Woods and Chalices and On the Tracks of Wild Game (2012).
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Lunch Poems - Tomaz Salamun - YouTube

Lunch Poems - Tomaz Salamun - YouTube | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it
One of the great postwar Central European poets, Slovenian Tomaz Salamun has published over thirty books. Publisher's Weekly praises his "postmodern mix of giddy and global [and] the earthy retrospect he takes from his homeland. Salamun has taught at universities around the world. His There's the Hand and There's the Arid Chair, translated by Thomas Kane, is forthcoming from Counterpath Press in 2009.
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Almost Like the Blues

Almost Like the Blues | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it
Lyrics by Leonard Cohen: “It was good, it wasn’t boring / It was almost like the blues . . .”
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Wild Gratitude, a Poem by Edward Hirsch - for #blwc14

Wild Gratitude, a Poem by Edward Hirsch - for #blwc14 | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tonight when I knelt down next to our cat, Zooey,

And put my fingers into her clean cat’s mouth,

And rubbed her swollen belly that will never know kittens,

And watched her wriggle onto her side, pawing the air,

And listened to her solemn little squeals of delight,

I was thinking about the poet, Christopher Smart,

Who wanted to kneel down and pray without ceasing

In every one of the splintered London streets,

 

……….

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Hum for the Bolt, a Poem by Jamaal May

Hum for the Bolt, a Poem by Jamaal  May | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it

"It could of course be silk. Fifty yards or so

of the next closest thing to water to the touch,

or it could just as easily be a shaft of wood

 

crumpling a man struck between spaulder and helm.

But now, with the rain making a noisy erasure

of this town, it is the flash that arrives

 

and leaves at nearly the same moment…." 

 

More poems by Jamaal May: http://wp.me/3ODMp ;

 

Jamaal will be reading on May 4 at the Massachusetts Poetry Festival. 2014

 

Massachusetts Poetry Festival | May 2-4 

 

Blacksmith House Poetry Series: 3 Generations/3 Voices

10:30 AM - 11:30 AM, May 4, 2014

Peabody Essex Museum, Bartlett Gallery 

 

The Blacksmith House Poetry Series has a long history (40+ years) of featuring both established and emerging poets. This event presents three poets at three distinct points in their poetic lives: Gail Mazur, Andrea Cohen, and Jamaal May.

 

For more on the 2014 Poetry Festival: http://goo.gl/3JpORu

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On Metal, a Poem by Jamaal May

"Hmm...drags at the back of a throat, occasionally
becomes mmmhmm...when three men huddle 
around a car, admitting some smaller defeat,
while not quite admitting the emergence of digital

parts means this won’t be solved by ratchet alone.
No one is happy to learn what an afternoon of chafed
knuckles, metal on skin, no longer solves…."

 

More poems by Jamaal May: http://wp.me/3ODMp

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Young Apple Tree, a Poem by Gail Mazur

"What you want for it you'd want

for a child: that she take hold;
that her roots find home in stony


winter soil; that she take seasons
in stride, seasons that shape and
reshape her; that like a dancer's,…"


More poems by Gail Mazur: http://goo.gl/qK8ohW

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Propeller, a Poem by Andrea Cohen

Propeller, a Poem by Andrea Cohen | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it

"To board the propeller plane, you

get to walk across the tarmac

like Cary Grant did or like you

did in your own innocent past. By

you, of course, I mean me, meaning

to imply a kind of universal you-

ness and me-ness, a linkage suggesting

we’re together on this tarmac, eyeing

the propeller suspiciously because

the thing that can take you

into the future can take your head off too…."

 

More poems by Andrea Cohen: http://goo.gl/8mK3De

 

Andrea will be reading on May 4 at the Massachusetts Poetry Festival. 

 

2014 Massachusetts Poetry Festival | May 2-4 

 

Blacksmith House Poetry Series: 3 Generations/3 Voices10:30 AM - 11:30 AM, May 4, 2014

Peabody Essex Museum, Bartlett Gallery 

 

The Blacksmith House Poetry Series has a long history (40+ years) of featuring both established and emerging poets. This event presents three poets at three distinct points in their poetic lives: Gail Mazur, Andrea Cohen, and Jamaal May.

 

For more on the 2014 Poetry Festival: http://goo.gl/3JpORu

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On Blueberry Picking, a Poem by Andrea Cohen

"Mostly it consists of pretending

not to pick them, since the wild bush—

more a tree really, thrives in plain

view among scrub pines, along the road

that leads to the Truro sea. So when cars

near, we turn from the bush, busying

our hands in air,…"

 

More poems by Andrea Cohen: http://goo.gl/8mK3De

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Fictional Characters, a Poem by Danusha Laméris

Do they ever want to escape?
Climb out of the white pages
and enter our world?

Holden Caulfield slipping in the movie theater
to catch the two o'clock
Anna Karenina sitting in a diner,
reading the paper as the waitress
serves up a cheeseburger.

Even Hector, on break from the Iliad,
takes a stroll through the park,
admires the tulips.

..................................


Poem: http://goo.gl/J7svFn


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Puhloglav Novac's curator insight, January 23, 2014 9:41 AM

energija na PSU_k'nekey_ja*UNISEX

na pohodu_b al' žžžž.....ko Masha spi...1#++++*****

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Philip Levine

Philip Levine | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it
"Philip Levine was one of the leading poetic voices of his generation, 'a large, ironic Whitman of the industrial heartland,' according to Edward Hirsch. The son of Russian-Jewish immigrants, Levine was born and raised in industrial Detroit, where he began working in the auto factories at the age of 14. As a young boy in the midst of the Great Depression of the 1930s, he was fascinated by the events of the Spanish Civil War. His heroes were not only those individuals who struggled against fascism but also ordinary folks who worked at hopeless jobs simply to stave off poverty. Noted for his interest in the grim reality of blue-collar work and workers, Levine resolved 'to find a voice for the voiceless' while working in the auto plants of Detroit during the 1950s. 'I saw that the people that I was working with … were voiceless in a way,' he explained in Detroit Magazine."
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Remembering Tomaž Šalamun

Remembering Tomaž Šalamun | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it
When Tomaž Šalamun arrived at a poetry festival in San Miguel de Allende two years ago with a bad back, which he had hurt tobogganing down the Great Wall of China, I was not surprised to learn that he had risked life and limb to have a little fun. The Slovenian poet seemed to possess the gift of eternal youth until he passed away on Saturday, at his home in Ljubljana. He was always alert to what young poets were doing -- they fed his imagination -- and they repaid him in kind with translations and imitations of his work; it is a great irony that although he wrote in a language spoken by less than two million people English versions of his poems have for several decades profoundly influenced American letters. What surprised me about his Chinese adventure was that he had not escaped unscathed. I had imagined him to be indestructible.
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A Dylan Thomas Centennial in New York

A Dylan Thomas Centennial in New York | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it
"The 92nd Street Y is marking the centennial of Dylan Thomas’s birth with an exhibition and a revival of his 1953 radio play 'Under Milk Wood' this weekend."
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Line by Line, E-Books Turn Poet-Friendly

Line by Line, E-Books Turn Poet-Friendly | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it
Digital publishers have gotten better at creating e-books that preserve a poet’s meticulous formatting, but some writers are still leery of surrendering their work to the digital realm.
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Inside the September issue of POETRY

Inside the September issue of POETRY | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it
"A longish poem about wallpaper. A short lyric about discouragement in white. A medium-length thesis of uncertain importance. ........” — Stephen Sandy
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Bringing Poetry And High Culture To Sao Paulo's Periphery

"Poetry in an unlikely place: In a grim urban shanty town in the middle of Sao Paulo, budding poets from the poorest sections of Brazilian society get together weekly to compose and recite poetry." "Sao Paulo is one of the biggest cities in the world and one of the economic engines of South America. Its center is known for its fancy malls, posh departments and even helicopter landing pads. The outlying areas where the vast majority of the workforce live are known for poverty and crime, less often for poetry and high culture. NPR's Lourdes Garcia-Navarro reports on efforts to change that. LOURDES GARCIA-NAVARRO, BYLINE: Booze and poetry have a long and honorable tradition that goes back millennia. In ancient Greece, poems would be recited at drinking parties. Here in Sao Paulo's peripheria, or periphery, poetry night is held at a corner bar by necessity, not by choice. And there aren't any marble columns. Located in a shanty town, when we arrive, the bar is so full that people flow out onto the street and sit under streetlamps smoking and holding small glasses of beer, waiting for the event to begin."

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Per Fumum, a Poem by Jamaal May

"         (through smoke)

 

My mother became an ornithologist

when the grackle tumbled through barbecue smoke

and fell at her feet. Soon she learned

why singers cage birds; it can take weeks

to memorize a melody —

the first days lost as they mope

and warble a friendless note,

the same tone every animal memorizes

hours into breathing…."

 

More poems by Jamaal May: http://wp.me/3ODMp

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Baseball, a Poem by Gail Mazur

Baseball, a Poem by Gail Mazur | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it

"The game of baseball is not a metaphor 
and I know it’s not really life. 
The chalky green diamond, the lovely 
dusty brown lanes I see from airplanes 
multiplying around the cities 
are only neat playing fields. 
Their structure is not the frame 
of history carved out of forest,…"

 

More poems by Gail Mazur: http://goo.gl/qK8ohW

 

Gail will be reading on May 4 at the Massachusetts Poetry Festival. 2014

 

Massachusetts Poetry Festival | May 2-4 

 

Blacksmith House Poetry Series: 3 Generations/3 Voices

10:30 AM - 11:30 AM, May 4, 2014

Peabody Essex Museum, Bartlett Gallery 

 

The Blacksmith House Poetry Series has a long history (40+ years) of featuring both established and emerging poets. This event presents three poets at three distinct points in their poetic lives: Gail Mazur, Andrea Cohen, and Jamaal May.

 

For more on the 2014 Poetry Festival: http://goo.gl/3JpORu

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What Ever They Want, a Poem by Gail Mazur

"Tonight, my students can ask me anything.
I’ll tell them the story of my life,
whatever they want. Outside, traffic shimmers
in the gulf haze, mosquitoes incubate
in the bayou. My students laugh softly
at the broad a of my accent, evidence—
if they need it—of my vulnerability,
a woman fallible enough to be
their mother…"

 

More poems by Gail Mazur: http://goo.gl/qK8ohW

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The Gates of Paradise, a Poem by Andrea Cohen

"The Gates of Paradise

are bitter, my father says.

Don’t tell Francesca.

He doesn’t mean to seem

ungrateful, tasting what he thought

he shouldn’t—the dark

chocolate replica she’s made

of a portion of Ghiberti’s gates,…"

 

More poems by Andrea Cohen: http://goo.gl/8mK3De

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Maxine Kumin, Pulitzer-Winning Poet With a Naturalist’s Precision, Dies at 88

Maxine Kumin, Pulitzer-Winning Poet With a Naturalist’s Precision, Dies at 88 | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it
Ms. Kumin, an author of essays, novels and children’s books, was best known for her volumes of sharply observed poetry, one of which, “Up Country,” won the Pulitzer Prize in 1973.
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Conduit: Connecting All the Stampeding Hearts

Conduit: Connecting All the Stampeding Hearts | Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees | Scoop.it
[Note: Each month we feature a guest post from a contributor to Poetry’s current issue. Jamaal May’s “There Are Birds Here” and “Per Fumum” appear in the February 2014 issue. Previous posts in this series can be found on the Editors’ Blog.] In the photograph the man smiles and waves. A sun smiles on his [...]

 

"I needed the poem that night to help me remember why creating and sharing was vital. This college reading was my first featured appearance after a six-month bout with stage fright that kept me from taking readings I couldn’t afford to pass up financially. I grappled with the possibility that I would never again be able to stand in front of an audience and recite what I had written. “Pomegranate Means Grenade” was a necessary poem in my push to break the spell of defeat. It always connects me to something larger, something more important than my own sense of comfort.

 

“Pomegranate Means Grenade” was written in the summer after my first year of working with the Inside Out Literary Arts Project. The poem was inspired by students there who were so open and brilliant and creative, I couldn’t help but fear for the safety of their spirits. It opens with an epigraph from one such student, Jontae McCrory, an eleven year old who on the first day of class raised his hand and asked if I read Lord Byron. Throughout the year Jontae showed an attention to language and love for fresh metaphor and imagery that was astonishing. “The heart trembles like a herd of horses,” writes Jontae in his poem “Burning Soul.” Here is the poem in its entirety."

 

Here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/?p=80684

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