
Tag: Poetry
“A Portrait in Greys” — William Carlos Williams

“Ironic: LL.D” — William Stanley Braithwaite

As birds as well as words (Gertrude Stein on the way Chaucer sounds)
You do remember Chaucer, even if you have not read him you do remember not how it looks but how it sounds, how simply it sounds as it sounds. That is as I say because the words were there. They had not yet to be chosen, they had only has yet to be there just there.
That makes a sound that gently sings that gently sounds but sounds as sounds. It sounds as sounds of course as words but it sounds as sounds. It sounds as sounds that is to say as birds as well as words. And that is because the words are there, they are not chosen as words, they are already there. That is the way Chaucer sounds.
From Gertrude Stein’s lecture “What Is English Literature” (no question mark); collected in Look at Me Now and Here I Am.
“[I shall forget you presently, my dear]” — Edna St. Vincent Millay

“Holy Thursday” (Innocence) — William Blake

“Aerial Math” — Tom Clark

“Rain” — Roberto Bolaño
“Maybe” — Langston Hughes

Maya Angelou (Books Acquired, 3.18.2015)

Random House is reissuing Maya Angelou’s seminal memoir I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings in both hardback and paperback with the original 1970 cover (love love love the cover). The Complete Poetry is also new (in hardback); love how the cover matches Caged Bird.
The paperback reissue of Caged Bird features a new foreword by Oprah Winfrey.

From The Complete Poetry:

“A Dream of Death” — W.B. Yeats

Boring (John Berryman)
“Cynical” — Gilbert Sorrentino

“A Walk in March” — Grace Paley
This hill
crossed with broken pines and maples
lumpy with the burial mounds of
uprooted hemlocks (hurricane
of ’38) out of their
rotting hearts generations rise
trying once more to become
the forest
just beyond them
tall enough to be called trees
in their youth like aspen a bouquet
of young beech is gathered
they still wear last summer’s leaves
the lightest brown almost translucent
how their stubbornness has decorated
the winter woods
on this narrow path ice tries
to keep the black undecaying oak leaves
in its crackling grip it’s become
too hard to walk at last a
sunny patch oh! i’m in water
to my ankles APRIL
“The Harlem Dancer” — Claude McKay

“Tired” — Fenton Johnson

“The Debt” — Paul Laurence Dunbar

