For the next year I’m going to be one of the guest editors of the PEN Poetry Series. Once a month, Robert Fernandez, Cathy Park Hong and I will each introduce new work from poets we admire. I’m excited about it. If you want to have the poems sent directly to you, sign up here.
This month, the series’ permanent editor, Danniel Schoonebeek is introducing the three of us through poems and short interviews. You can read them all here.

For the next year I’m going to be one of the guest editors of the PEN Poetry Series. Once a month, Robert Fernandez, Cathy Park Hong and I will each introduce new work from poets we admire. I’m excited about it. If you want to have the poems sent directly to you, sign up here.

This month, the series’ permanent editor, Danniel Schoonebeek is introducing the three of us through poems and short interviews. You can read them all here.

Hi Mom, I’m in Cosmo!
Ever wonder what he REALLY wants? Okay, now this is going to sound a little out-there, but trust us, guys say it feels un-freakin’-believable. Heat up some massage oil, and put it into a turkey baster. Slowly let the oil drip onto the cover of The Trees The Trees while you whisper “Gimme a page number, big guy,” to the turkey you’ve ritualistically pardoned for the occasion. It’s an unexpected new sensation for him.
(That is just my imaginary version of things. Reality is here.)

Hi Mom, I’m in Cosmo!

Ever wonder what he REALLY wants? Okay, now this is going to sound a little out-there, but trust us, guys say it feels un-freakin’-believable. Heat up some massage oil, and put it into a turkey baster. Slowly let the oil drip onto the cover of The Trees The Trees while you whisper “Gimme a page number, big guy,” to the turkey you’ve ritualistically pardoned for the occasion. It’s an unexpected new sensation for him.

(That is just my imaginary version of things. Reality is here.)

So begins the excerpt from Seth Landman’s long poem, Confidence, featured over at Spoke Too Soon. I have some words to say about it here.
Seth is the Seth of "Dear Seth." He is also the Seth of many other things.

So begins the excerpt from Seth Landman’s long poem, Confidence, featured over at Spoke Too SoonI have some words to say about it here.

Seth is the Seth of "Dear Seth." He is also the Seth of many other things.

from George Lakoff & Mark Johnson’s Metaphors We Live By

Literally.

Literally.

This is my English grandmother, whose last words I do not know. According to his poem, among the last words of William Carlos Williams’ English grandmother were “What are all those / fuzzy-looking things out there? / Trees? Well, I’m tired / of them.”
My mother sent me this photo the other day, because it reminded her of a poem I wrote. She didn’t say whether the photo was actually taken at Kew Gardens, but it would not be unreasonable to think so.
One can grow sometimes tired of everything, heavy bored, with trees, with life. One can fall into a vacant and pensive mood. Another William says you can cure this with daffodils.
Yesterday was the first day of spring. I’ve seen no daffodils, but my goodness, the crocuses!
Once, parking in Cambridge, I bumped into the car behind me, and shouted out Goodness me!
On any number of other occasions of failure I have shouted Shit!
Yesterday, for instance, when I failed with the curtains. Or last week, when I failed with the squash. I have yet to shout anything while writing a poem, because the failure there is slow, not sudden.
If my death is sudden, I might not have time to shout anything.
Or maybe I will. Emo Philips has this advice: “Always remember the last words of my grandfather, who said: A truck!’

This is my English grandmother, whose last words I do not know. According to his poem, among the last words of William Carlos Williams’ English grandmother were “What are all those / fuzzy-looking things out there? / Trees? Well, I’m tired / of them.”

My mother sent me this photo the other day, because it reminded her of a poem I wrote. She didn’t say whether the photo was actually taken at Kew Gardens, but it would not be unreasonable to think so.

One can grow sometimes tired of everything, heavy bored, with trees, with life. One can fall into a vacant and pensive mood. Another William says you can cure this with daffodils.

Yesterday was the first day of spring. I’ve seen no daffodils, but my goodness, the crocuses!

Once, parking in Cambridge, I bumped into the car behind me, and shouted out Goodness me!

On any number of other occasions of failure I have shouted Shit!

Yesterday, for instance, when I failed with the curtains. Or last week, when I failed with the squash. I have yet to shout anything while writing a poem, because the failure there is slow, not sudden.

If my death is sudden, I might not have time to shout anything.

Or maybe I will. Emo Philips has this advice: “Always remember the last words of my grandfather, who said: A truck!

If you click over to the Other People podcast, you’ll be able to hear Brad Listi and me talk about my life from childhood to the present. I am not accustomed to this kind of interview. I was in a house, on the phone, looking at cats and chickens.
(Edited: link is now live.) 

If you click over to the Other People podcast, you’ll be able to hear Brad Listi and me talk about my life from childhood to the present. I am not accustomed to this kind of interview. I was in a house, on the phone, looking at cats and chickens.

(Edited: link is now live.) 

Floating Wolf Quarterly just posted two new chapbooks of poetry, one by Emily Hunt, and one by me. Mine are all addressed to the poet Seth Landman, who is a great human being.

Floating Wolf Quarterly just posted two new chapbooks of poetry, one by Emily Hunt, and one by me. Mine are all addressed to the poet Seth Landman, who is a great human being.

I know that if you are going to be in Seattle this week, you are likely already dizzy with choices of where to go and what to hear, but before you fall over, I thought I’d mention this event, which is the only place I’ll be reading this year. I think it will be a good night. Maybe you can bring Dorothea Lasky the missing o from her name. Me, I will take any letter you offer.

I know that if you are going to be in Seattle this week, you are likely already dizzy with choices of where to go and what to hear, but before you fall over, I thought I’d mention this event, which is the only place I’ll be reading this year. I think it will be a good night. Maybe you can bring Dorothea Lasky the missing o from her name. Me, I will take any letter you offer.

I like the sound of this person’s voice.

Once, a long time ago, I was reading with Matvei Yankelevich, and thought it would be nice to dedicate this poem to him, because of the reference to speaking Russian. Then I read the first line aloud, everyone laughed, and I realized I was going to be blushing for days.

bobschofield:

NOT MY NATIVE TONGUE by Heather Christle

I would love to undress you.
I suspect underneath
the zipper you are
no less than gold,
that you emit a fat
bold light. That in sleep
you curl up completely,
a red plastic fish.
Look at you flickering.
And it means you are stubborn.
It means you are constant.
It means your little dance.
If I spoke Russian, dearest,
I would say to you
From whom did you receive a letter?
Who was wearing a pretty dress?
What’s new? What does this word mean?
What are you writing?
What happened?
Nothing to live on.
I feel like sleeping.
You feel like sleeping.
We feel like going to the movies.

-Robert Desnos, translated by Bill Zavatsky

-Robert Desnos, translated by Bill Zavatsky