NYR iOS app Android app More

Forever Writing From Ireland

Poetry Foundation   |   September 3, 2015   12:48 AM ET

PROSE FROM POETRY MAGAZINE: On Billy Ramsell's The Architect's Dream of Winter, Tara Bergin's This Is Yarrow, Alan Gillis's Scapegoat, and Doireann Ní Ghríofa's Clasp.

By Maya Catherine Popa

What defines Irish poetry today? A survey of recently published Irish titles suggests the striking variety of voices, aesthetics, and anxieties emerging from the Emerald Isle. It should come as no surprise that a country that so prides itself on its literary heritage (poems still grace the pages of the Irish Examiner and The Irish Times) would inspire each generation to upkeep and further push poetic practice to new realms. And yet, we think of Joyce, Yeats, MacNeice, Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin, and Heaney as roots in the Irish soil from which future generations have sprung, and from whose shadows poets still face the daunting task of emerging.

Many very fine contemporary Irish poets have found ways to inherit this legacy of genius while carving their own paths and reaching new international audiences. Paul Muldoon comes to mind (though he, too, gets compared to Heaney), as well as Eavan Boland. Notably, both have lived as expats in the United States while sustaining irrefutable, lasting literary ties to Ireland. Indeed, this speaks to one quality that begins to address the simplistic opening probe: inheritance must be reckoned with in Irish poetry, beyond the usual measure for poets. Whether sustained or challenged, tradition poses a question, and uncertainty is often a generative place from which to begin.

Read the full article on the Poetry Foundation website.

Poetry and the Memory of Fame: On Accidental Anonymity

Poetry Foundation   |   September 3, 2015   12:36 AM ET

By Thomas McCarthy


I once felt quite famous as a poet. Indeed, now that I think of it, I have felt famous twice. These two periods of really unsettling fame came back to me recently as I dealt with a young poet at the lending desk of the public library where I've worked for over thirty years. The young poet had been coming into my city-center branch for over a year, dropping grease-stained envelopes stuffed with five or six poems and then returning a few days later to listen to my responses to his raw and energetic work. But there was this one morning when we'd had a very strenuous, useful exchange of ideas around his improving technique. In that pause when a conversation just ends and an older poet adroitly excuses himself, the young man suddenly said to me: "You know so much about poetry; you read it so closely. Have you ever thought of writing anything yourself?"

Read the full piece on the Poetry Foundation website.

Emily Dickinson 101: Demystifying One of Our Greatest Poets

Poetry Foundation   |   August 28, 2015    4:34 PM ET


Emily Dickinson published very few poems in her lifetime, and nearly 1,800 of her poems of were discovered after her death, many of them neatly organized into small, hand-sewn booklets called fascicles. The first published book of Dickinson's poetry appeared in 1890, four years after her death; it was a small selection, heavily edited to remove Dickinson's unique syntax, spelling, and punctuation. A family feud led to dueling and competing volumes in subsequent years, and a complete, restored edition of Dickinson's poetry did not appear until 1998, more than 100 years after the original publication.

Despite their complicated history, Dickinson's poems are among the most read and beloved in the English language. Although Dickinson is often said to have been introverted and reclusive, her poems show both her internal struggles and her strong engagement with the natural and social worlds in which she lived.

View the full poem sampler on the Poetry Foundation website.

Responding to 'What Is Literary Activism?'

Poetry Foundation   |   August 21, 2015    9:05 PM ET

[Editor's Note: As a response to Amy King's recent post "What Is Literary Activism?," Wendy Trevino, Juliana Spahr, Tim Kreiner, Joshua Clover, Chris Chen, and Jasper Bernes have offered the following letter.]


Dear Harriet,

We were pleased to see your forum "What is Literary Activism?" not least for the useful and persuasive passages to be found there. Even more so, its mere existence -- or its necessity --registers a truth about the transformation of U.S poetry in recent years: away from a purported opposition between lyrical quietude and avant-garde formal ambition as the only one in town. At least there is the acknowledged possibility of the existence of an explicitly politicized poetry drawing much of its energy from significant social antagonisms.

It is this connection between lived struggles and living poets that we take most seriously, and this connection we worry is most at risk of being broken within the formulation of "literary activism." The danger, it seems to us, is in imagining the literary as a kind of autonomous sphere. In this conception, literary activism may mean efforts meant to transform the realm of literature; to be exemplary in our relation to writing and reading and publishing; to practice thoughtfulness, be just, be decent in our literary communities. We believe in all of this.

This is why we were pleased to see the question what is literary activism framed by Amy King's list of "marches, counter marches, clinic defenses and on the ground actions." Pleased to read Héctor Ramírez noticing that "No amount of specialization or distinction or departmentalization can bracket our terrible American reality or justify our terrible American imagination." Pleased to see Jeff Koo complain about the mainly white room of the poetry reading and urging "if you call yourself a curator, well, curate something-you know, think about what you're doing."

Read the full response on the Poetry Foundation website.

Living Tradition: Clare Cavanagh Talks About The Joys and Challenges of Translation

Poetry Foundation   |   August 19, 2015    1:14 PM ET

By Alex Dueben


Growing up in the San Francisco Bay area, Clare Cavanagh had no exposure to the Polish language. In graduate school, she says, she decided to take a class in Polish only because "it was a department requirement." There, her career as one of the premier Polish-to-English translators began. Earlier this year, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt published Map: Collected and Last Poems, by Nobel Prize-winner Wisława Szymborska, who passed away in 2012. Cavanagh, who translated Szymborska's poetry for more than three decades, edited the volume. She spoke with the Poetry Foundation recently about the benefits of lengthy collaborations and how manners were instrumental to Szymborska's work.

Read the full interview on the Poetry Foundation website.

Poem of the Day: "Golden Retrievals"

Poetry Foundation   |   August 10, 2015   11:51 AM ET

By Mark Doty

Fetch? Balls and sticks capture my attention
seconds at a time. Catch? I don't think so.
Bunny, tumbling leaf, a squirrel who's--oh
joy--actually scared. Sniff the wind, then

I'm off again: muck, pond, ditch, residue
of any thrillingly dead thing. And you?

Read the full poem on the Poetry Foundation website.

Mark Doty, "Golden Retrievals" from Sweet Machine: Poems. Copyright © 1998 by Mark Doty. Reprinted with the permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Source: Sweet Machine: Poems (HarperCollins Publishers Inc, 1998)

Poem of the Day: "A Woman on the Dump"

Poetry Foundation   |   August 7, 2015   11:57 AM ET

By Debora Greger

Is it peace,
Is it a philosopher's honeymoon, one finds
On the dump?
--Wallace Stevens

Out of the cracks of cups and their handles, missing,
the leaves unceremoniously tossed, unread,
from a stubble of coffee ground ever more finely
into these hollowed grounds,

the first shift coaxes bulldozers to life,
sphinxes to tease the riddled rubble
into fresh pyramids of rot. A staleness warms enough
to waft round the lord of all purveyed.

Read the full poem on the Poetry Foundation website.

Debora Greger, "A Woman on the Dump" from Off-Season at the Edge of the World. Copyright © 1994 by Debora Greger. Used with the permission of the author and the University of Illinois Press.

Source: Off-Season at the Edge of the World: Poems (1994)

Subscribe to POETRY Magazine

Poetry Foundation   |   August 5, 2015    4:22 PM ET


Founded in Chicago by Harriet Monroe in 1912, Poetry magazine began with the "Open Door":

May the great poet we are looking for never find it shut, or half-shut, against his ample genius! To this end the editors hope to keep free of entangling alliances with any single class or school. They desire to print the best English verse which is being written today, regardless of where, by whom, or under what theory of art it is written.

The magazine has since published a new issue every month for one hundred years. Perhaps most famous for having been the first to publish T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," Poetry also championed the early works of Robert Frost, Langston Hughes, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and Marianne Moore. It was first to recognize many poems that are now widely anthologized by poets such as Gwendolyn Brooks, E.E. Cummings, Frank O'Hara, Sylvia Plath, Carl Sandburg, Charles Bukowski, Raymond Carver, Allen Ginsberg, Ernest Hemingway, James Joyce, Gertrude Stein, and Tennessee Williams, to name just a few.

Today, Poetry regularly presents new work by the most recognized poets, but its primary commitment is still to discover new voices. In recent years, over a third of the poets published have been new to the magazine. Annual translation issues deepen readers' engagement with foreign-language poetry, and regular Q&A features present conversations with poets about their work. Poetry is also known for its enlivening "Comment" section, featuring book reviews, essays, notebooks, and "The View from Here" column, which highlights artists and professionals from outside the poetry world writing about their experience of poetry.

Subscribe today to receive the print edition every month, as well as access to the complete digital archive of the magazine.

POETRY Magazine Podcast: July/August 2015

Poetry Foundation   |   August 5, 2015    4:20 PM ET


"Cranberry Cranberry Cranberry"

In this episode, the editors discuss Amy Newman's "Howl," Alice Notley's "This Fire," and a series of limericks by Anthony Madrid. Listen to the full episode on the Poetry Foundation website.

In this monthly podcast, the editors go inside the pages of Poetry, talking to poets and critics, debating the issues, and sharing their poem selections with listeners. You can subscribe to the podcast here.

Poetry Off the Shelf: For Love of Russia

Poetry Foundation   |   August 5, 2015    4:20 PM ET

Listen to poems by Anna Akhmatova set to music by Iris DeMent on the Poetry Foundation website.

Poetry Off the Shelf is a weekly audio podcast in which producer Curtis Fox explores the diverse world of contemporary American poetry with readings by poets, interviews with critics, and short poetry documentaries. Nothing is off limits, and nobody is taken too seriously.

Subscribe to the podcast here.

Poem of the Day: from "You, Part I"

Poetry Foundation   |   August 5, 2015    4:19 PM ET

By Ron Silliman

for Pat Silliman


Hard dreams. The moment at which you recognize that your own death lies

in wait somewhere within your body. A lone ship defines the horizon. The

rain is not safe to drink.

In Grozny, in Bihac, the idea of history shudders with each new explosion.

The rose lies unattended, wild thorns at the edge of a mass grave. Between

classes, over strong coffee, young men argue the value of a pronoun.

When this you see, remember. Note in a bottle bobs in a cartoon sea. The

radio operator's name is Sparks.

Read the full poem on the Poetry Foundation website.

Ron Silliman, "You" (I) from The Alphabet. Copyright © 2008 by Ron Silliman. Reprinted by permission of University of Alabama Press.

Source: The Alphabet (The University of Alabama Press, 2008)

Redressing the Emperor: Why Poets Matter

Poetry Foundation   |   August 5, 2015    4:18 PM ET

By Amy King


They say you can be a bad person and still make a great thing. They say you can use poetry cynically for your own selfish gain in the name of free speech. But what they don't say so often, because there are shaming mechanisms in place, is that this Western inclination towards abstracting one's speech actions into a removed cause and thereby exempting the speaker from accountability is a privileged thing. Such positioning pretends history doesn't count, the person's choices don't count, the pain inflicted through harmful speech acts doesn't count, only the work and its right to exist counts. Colonialism has been pulling variations of these white supremacist tricks for heaps of decades "for the good of the people," "for the sake of freedom," etc. Such maneuvers are ultimately the building blocks of how we value human lives on a hierarchy. And this is precisely why poets matter.

Generally speaking, mainstream populism doesn't attend to the Woody Allens and Roman Polanskis the way poets attend to poets and poetry. We are regularly told that the issues and conflicts we discuss are so much navel-gazing and to look at the "real world" to witness "real problems." Poets have classically tasked ourselves with the business of meaning-making, scrutinizing how meaning is made with language--and then attempting to make or conjure it. Critical acuity is cultivated by the very practice of being a poet. How many times have we heard about the poet's eye? The poet's ear? The poet's insight? Philosophers are slightly removed by working within systems of meaning, but poets are making meaning in the daily culture while also examining how it functions on a more intimate and practical level.

Read the full post on Harriet, The Poetry Foundation's blog for poetry and related news.

My Life Is a Poem

Poetry Foundation   |   August 5, 2015    4:16 PM ET

By Rhymefest


Chicago is a poem written by Edgar Allan Poe. It is beautifully tragic, with its political corruption, murder, suspense, segregation, and economic disparity. "Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, / Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." All the while, creating from within it are many of the most prolific artists, athletes, and world figures humanity has ever encountered.

My mother was a poem written by Gwendolyn Brooks. Fifteen years old from Chicago with a baby of her own to raise, she was simple but profound. Strong in spirit yet subtle in approach.

Read the full poem on the Poetry Foundation website.

Originally published in the July/August 2015 issue of Poetry magazine.

We Will Never Leave Earth

Iain S. Thomas   |   July 21, 2015   12:40 PM ET

We will never leave Earth.

Battlestar Galactica is a lie.

Star Trek is a lie.

Alien is a lie.

We will never leave Earth.

We will never leave Earth because we will spend the time we have left and the one chance we have to leave Earth bickering over who did what to who.

We will never leave Earth because instead of building spaceships, we decided to build walls and razor wire and prisons and bombs instead.

We will never leave Earth because we aren't building space elevators and warp drives and new kinds of space suits and lasers -- just in case we ever meet anyone as petty and mean as ourselves out there.

We will never leave Earth because we're too busy building tanks to fight over the last barrels of oil and planes to drop the bombs we made on the people who disagree with us over the specifics of the story about where we all come from.

We will never leave Earth, even though all our stories agree, that heaven is above us.

We will never leave Earth. Even though Stephen Hawking says we've only got 200 years left. The last 2000 don't give us much hope.

We will never leave Earth because so many of us have agreed that passing laws about what someone else does with their genitals is more important, than leaving the Earth.

We will never leave Earth and we will sink and drown on this ship while we fight over the deck chairs.

We will never leave Earth.

The Last Starfighter is a lie.

Babylon 5 is a lie.

Star Wars is a lie.

Iain M. Banks is a lie.

We will, never, leave Earth.

We will never leave Earth and we will never be anything more than a strange thought the universe had, a moment in which it went, "Heh, wouldn't that be crazy. Na."

We will never leave Earth because the world will erupt in fire and ice while we're still debating whether or not fire and ice actually exist. We will still be arguing over whether we're burning or freezing to death when we die.

We will never leave Earth and the few robots we've sent out in our place will be our only fingerprints on the firmament, the only proof that a grabbing, desperate hand shot out of our coffin, before it sunk beneath the soil.

We will never leave the Earth and meet Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Capricorn, Aquarius, or Pisces.

We will never touch Gemini's face and hear her say, "You look just like me. You look just like me."

We will never leave Earth because we're too busy arguing over who you're allowed to love to bother actually doing the work of love, of leaving the Earth.

We will never leave the Earth because we're obsessed with the soil we were born on and we never realised that all the dirt that we stand on and all the dirt we're made of, isn't dirt. It's star dust. Our dirt, is their dirt, and we will never ask their dirt for help and so, we will never leave earth.

Carl Sagan is a lie.

Douglas Adams is a lie.

Guardians of The Galaxy is a lie.

Space Quest is a lie.

We will, never, leave Earth.

Except as dust and ashes and minerals, returned to the sender, to be light, burning, in someone else's stars.


This poem appears in the collection of short stories and prose, "How to be Happy: Not a Self-Help Book."