#Craig Morgan Teicher

[nahhhlina]

#poetry #craig morgan teicher

[manwalksintobar]

The Chorus  // Craig Morgan Teicher

1.

It’s, you know, the part that repeats, the bit you’re supposed to remember, the bit that bears

repeating, the part that means something new each time, something different,

and the same thing, too, the thing you can’t forget, that gets stuck in your head.

So, like, childhood is endless and over almost as soon as it begins?

Yeah, like that. Ten years shrinks like the pages of a water-damaged book.

No, the pages don’t really shrink or shrivel, they crinkle, get kinda crisp and brittle, but

time’s like that, a wrinkle, and suddenly you’ve been married as long as

you were ever a kid, ever awash in the interminable Thursday of your first ten years, when

three months was an aeon, when, like, childhood was endless and over as soon as it began.

See what I did there? Shifted the refrain into the middle. Yeah, time is like that, and

2.

suddenly your newborn is ten and your wife is celebrating the birthday

only grownups do, and you must be older than your mom was

at your age, and it’s not Thursday—was it ever? And the two pills you have to take every night.

How is it Sunday, I mean Monday, this morning, your alarm, your coffee grumbling, thunder,

and the kids (two of them, suddenly) are out the door, and their childhood is

endless and already over as soon as it begins, and you’re on the bus to work. See what

I did there? I don’t. The four pills you have to take three times every day, you might

3.

as well be already at your desk, your deathbed, holding your daughter’s

grownup hand, you hope, the hospital calm and clean, like the one your mother

died in, and there’s hopefully money somewhere to take care of everything, and this

is like childhood, endless and over as soon as it begins, or as close as you’ll ever get

again—see what I did there? Did you see? Did anyone?

#poetry #Craig Morgan Teicher #ageing #childhood #fathers & daughters #time #existential angst #life #despair #American poetry

[typewriter-worries]

Another Day, Craig Morgan Teicher [ transcript in ALT ] 

#craig morgan teicher #my upload #poetry #dark academia #light academia #classic academia #grey academia

[poem-today]

A poem by Craig Morgan Teicher

Peers

I’m thinking of you beautiful and young, of me young

and confused and maybe beautiful. There were lots of us—

these were our twenties, when, post-9/11, we were about to

inherit the world, and we had no idea what to do with it. And look

what we did, and we didn’t. And now look at us, and it.

We turned away for a blip, started whispering, kissing, had kids,

bought houses, changed bulbs, submitted claims, changed channels,

FaceTimed, streamed, upgraded, were two-day-shipped to, and midway

through our prime earning years we look up again, decades groggy,

decades late. Forgive us, we thought— but now it doesn’t matter. These are our

outcomes, consequences, faults, forties, when the hourglass

is beeping and bleak and people like us have memories like this

and wonder if the beauty that’s left is really still beautiful, if it was.

Craig Morgan Teicher

This poem appeared in the April 5, 2021 issue of the New Yorker.

Listen to Craig Morgan Teicher read his poem.

#craig morgan teicher #american poetry #peers #facetime

[goneontherun]

8 Apr

Peers

By Craig Morgan Teicher

I’m thinking of you beautiful and young, of me young

and confused and maybe beautiful. There were lots of us—

these were our twenties, when, post-9/11, we were about to

inherit the world, and we had no idea what to do with it. And look

what we did, and we didn’t. And now look at us, and it.

We turned away for a blip, started whispering, kissing, had kids,

bought houses, changed bulbs, submitted claims, changed channels,

FaceTimed, streamed, upgraded, were two-day-shipped to, and midway

through our prime earning years we look up again, decades groggy,

decades late. Forgive us, we thought— but now it doesn’t matter. These are our

outcomes, consequences, faults, forties, when the hourglass

is beeping and bleak and people like us have memories like this

and wonder if the beauty that’s left is really still beautiful, if it was.

[principleofplenitude]

I’m thinking of you beautiful and young, of me young and confused and maybe beautiful. There were lots of us— these were our twenties, when, post-9/11, we were about to inherit the world, and we had no idea what to do with it. And look what we did, and we didn’t. And now look at us, and it. We turned away for a blip, started whispering, kissing, had kids, bought houses, changed bulbs, submitted claims, changed channels, FaceTimed, streamed, upgraded, were two-day-shipped to, and midway through our prime earning years we look up again, decades groggy, decades late. Forgive us, we thought— but now it doesn’t matter. These are our outcomes, consequences, faults, forties, when the hourglass is beeping and bleak and people like us have memories like this and wonder if the beauty that’s left is really still beautiful, if it was.

Craig Morgan Teicher, “Peers”

#poetry #poem #memory #youth

[laboratoriumkata]

Pengakuan

judul asli : Confession penyair : Craig Morgan Teicher buku : to Keep Love Blurry terjemah bebas oleh : Ramadhan A

lowell melakukannya dengan baik karena ia mengerti, meskipun kepiawaiannya berkata

"aku pernah seburuk itu," ia tetaplah harus tampil sempurna.

tiada yang mencintai seseorang yang membenci dirinya sendiri, seorang yang kuat, dan semua pesona atas minat seseorang pada kejahatannya sendiri yang ia tumpahkan pada pertunjukan bagi yang terluka olehnya, atau bagi mereka yang belum pernah dan menjadi sasaran selanjutnya.

Si pemberani,

bintang rock,

pawang sirkus yang piawai,

yang membakar dirinya dengan api tiap malam.

lalu dipadamkan dengan tangisan penontonnya. Unik!

itulah tipuan yang mereka sukai; ia baik-baik saja. karena ia mencintai dirinya, kebencian yang dipermainkan. seorang pembenci diri sejati, yang memkau rumah-rumah kosong,

terlambat.

#puisi #poems on tumblr #sastra #poem #poetry #english literatur #english poetry #translation literature #indonesian bahasa translation #terjemah bebas #free translation #sastra indonesia

[thesefevereddays]

Peers

By Craig Morgan Teicher

I’m thinking of you beautiful

and young, of me young

and confused and maybe

beautiful. There were lots of us—

these were our twenties, when,

post-9/11, we were about to

inherit the world, and we had no idea

what to do with it. And look

what we did, and we didn’t.

And now look at us, and it.

We turned away for a blip, started

whispering, kissing, had kids,

bought houses, changed bulbs,

submitted claims, changed channels,

FaceTimed, streamed, upgraded,

were two-day-shipped to, and midway

through our prime earning years

we look up again, decades groggy,

decades late. Forgive us, we thought—

but now it doesn’t matter. These are our

outcomes, consequences, faults,

forties, when the hourglass

is beeping and bleak and people

like us have memories like this

and wonder if the beauty that’s left

is really still beautiful, if it was.

#poetry

[mmorgshell]

Tremulous.

‘Am I lost / or have I been lifted?’ the poet asks. “Adam Giannelli talks to the world-to rain, to insomnia, to the beloveds here and vanished, to the stars themselves in their ‘old staring contest.’ Sink into this book as into solace and trouble. “This extraordinary and sobering debut begins with a literal stutter-‘Since I couldn't say tomorrow / I said Wednesday.’ In trade for this impediment, Adam Giannelli finds that, in poetry, what can’t be said gives way to what must be said.”-Craig Morgan Teicher, judge, Iowa Poetry Prize Though perfect expression may be unattainable, poetry is often about the process, and it is a pleasure to watch Giannelli work (and rework) his magic.”-starred review, Publishers Weekly He contends with the limits of clarity using some quite brilliant anagrams and homonyms, as in “parents in the train window winnowed to transparence.” Sometimes Giannelli seems to pull stunning phrases whole from the ether, describing the tides as “the ocean tearing blue page after/ blue page from its journal.” He also explores grief through a document written by a deceased grandfather, its perplexities perhaps easier to contend with than those of life itself. Metaphors are applied and swapped out, as in “Hydrangea,” where the flower is a snow cone, a “Bearded lady,// balloon man, chameleon,” “honeycomb/ and bouquet,” “viscous muscle,” and more. In “Star Gazers,” “we” look out at the stars, but they are looking right back at us. This striving for fluency could have been born from the childhood speech impediment the poet reflects on poignantly in the opening poem: “since I can’t say everlasting/ I say every/ lost thing.” At the same time, Giannelli is preoccupied with double meanings. “Giannelli’s debut is a quiet affair, but its simplicity masks layers and a longing for precision exhibited through minute adjustments, tweaked phrases, and shifting imagery.

#Tremulous.

[javierpenadea]

"A Poet Who Looks to Nature, and Honors Its Secrets" by BY CRAIG MORGAN TEICHER via NYT Books https://ift.tt/hJaC1QO

#NYT #news

[finishinglinepress]

Congratulations to Irene Cooper and FLP for being named a Finalist in the 2022 Oregon Book Awards!

STAFFORD/HALL AWARD FOR POETRY

Judges: Craig Morgan Teicher, Sun Yung Shin, Malcolm Tariq

Irene Cooper of Bend, spare change (Finishing Line Press)

[squirrelprime]

I get the New Yorker and this was a wonderful poem included in this weeks issue.

#poetry #craig morgan teicher #90s #gen x

[nprbooks]

Image by dedalusj/Flickr Creative Commons

Poetry critic Craig Morgan Teicher is back with his annual roundup of poetry books to look forward to in 2020. He’s says he’s not optimistic about the state of America:

Things are bad, hatred is rampant, and fear mostly seems to be winning.

And so I turn to poetry all the more, for what it still can do, what it has always done: Take action in language, speak the complicated, multifaceted truth, oppose silence and silencing.

Here are the books he hopes will help keep the darkness at bay.

-- Petra

#npr books #books #reading #poetry #poetry preview #2020 poetry #craig morgan teicher

[sashayed]

Another Day

It should be difficult, always difficult, rising from bed each morning, against gravity, against

dreams, which weigh like the forgotten names of remembered faces. But some days it’s

easy, nothing, to rise, to feed, to work, to commit the small graces that add up to love,

to family, to memory, finally to life, or what one would choose to remember of it, not

those other leaden mornings when sleep is so far preferable to pulling over one’s

head the wet shirt of one’s identity again, the self one had been honing or fleeing

all these years, one’s fine, blessed self, one’s only, which another day fills.

Craig Morgan Teicher from The Trembling Answers, 2017

#poetry #national poetry month #craig morgan teicher

[aeide-thea]

Lifted

Well, I guess no one can have everything. I must learn to celebrate when I fail. Inner growth and fortitude follow the sting, right? Won't I rise with holy wind in my sails? Yet they always seem to get what I want, door after door flung open. Why are the keepers of doors, who haunt the hopeful halls of fate and desire so partial to them, but not to me? Yes, I do feel sorry for myself—don't, brother, pretend the bitter blanket of self-pity hasn't warmed your bones. It's not lovers or fame I crave, nor even happiness, particularly. Only to be lifted, just once, above all others.

    —Craig Morgan Teicher

#poetry #craig morgan teicher #this isn't‚ actually‚ a thing i feel #not because i'm ~better than this~ but because my yearnings aren't so comparative #but i do love a good talky sonnet that breezes through its rhyme scheme with a blithe surety #and i rather think that last line manages precisely what it asks for #with the sudden clear spreading pause it emerges into #leaving the madding crowd behind

[missedstations]

“Lifted” - Craig Morgan Teicher

Well, I guess no one can have everything. I must learn to celebrate when I fail. Inner growth and fortitude follow the sting, right? Won't I rise with holy wind in my sails? Yet they always seem to get what I want, door after door flung open. Why are the keepers of doors, who haunt the hopeful halls of fate and desire so partial to them, but not to me? Yes, I do feel sorry for myself—don't, brother, pretend the bitter blanket of self-pity, hasn't warmed your bones. It's not lovers or fame I crave, nor even happiness, particularly. Only to be lifted, just once, above all others.

#Poems #Lifted #Craig Morgan Teicher