En el infinitođź“ť
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Three brief poems of male love, of transcience and what abides. These works fall in a chain of influence from the singular James Merrill (1926–1995) through his younger contemporary and good friend J. D. McClatchy (1945–2018), and down to Richie Hofmann, whose 21st-century work carries an echo of their desires. As a student, Richie wrote his senior thesis on Merrill’s poetry and its relationship to visual art, and later assisted McClatchy in sorting through a collection of Merrill’s books, to facilitate their donation to the James Merrill House in Stonington, CT.Â
Last Words
by James Merrill
My life, your light green eyes
Have lit on me with joy.
There’s nothing I don’t know
Or shall not know again,
Over and over again.
It’s noon, it’s dawn, it’s night,
I am the dog that dies
In the deep street of Troy
Tomorrow, long ago—
Part of me dims with pain,
Becomes the stinging flies,
The bent head of the boy.
Part looks into your light
And lives to tell you so.
Mercury Dressing
by J. D. McClatchy
To steal a glance and, anxious, see
Him slipping into transparency—
The feathered helmet already in place,
Its shadow fallen across his face
(His hooded sex its counterpart)—
Unsteadies the routines of the heart.
If I reach out and touch his wing,
What harm, what help might he then bring?
But suddenly he disappears,
As so much else has down the years . . .
Until I feel him deep inside
The emptiness, preoccupied.
His nerve electrifies the air.
His message is his being there.
Things That Are Rare
by Richie Hofmann
It is so easy to imagine your absence.
Maybe it is night, we are still handsome.
All the young are.
It is so easy. Another thing to be beautiful.
How gently the curtain falls back down
and the room is dark again, the season
of in-betweenities,
my eyes heavy, my lips numb.
Fingerprints on the unjacketed books.
Inside the collars
of the shirts in the open closet—
An affluent night.
You’ve touched everything in my small room.
. .
More on these authors:
Browse other books by James Merrill. Learn more about the historic James Merrill House and browse their events.
Browse other books by J. D. McClatchy.Â
Follow Richie Hofmann @richiehof on Twitter and Instagram, join his advanced poetry course online or in person at 92NY, and hear him read at Women and Children First in Chicago on June 27.
Read Richie Hofmann’s new poem, “Lamb,” recently published in Poem-a-Day by the Academy of American Poets.
Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.
To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.
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Quise llamarte “amor”.
Cuando te conocĂ, tambiĂ©n conocĂ una parte de mĂ.
Con tu compañĂa, me hiciste darme cuenta de lo mucho que podemos llegar a sentir. Que el miedo a intentarlo puede durar años y que el corazĂłn se acomoda a sentirlo todo y a decir nada.
Cuando te conocĂ, tambiĂ©n conocĂ una parte de mĂ.
Jamás imaginĂ© escribir para ti pero me topaba con cada palabra, cada poema y terminaba en comerme cada estrofa para enredarme en el recuerdo de tu aroma. DejĂ© a un lado lo que me hacĂa sentir poca cosa.
Cuando te conocĂ, tambiĂ©n conocĂ una parte de mĂ.
ComencĂ© a elaborar todo un designio con un sinfĂn de palabras hermosas pero sobre todo, de vivencias en nuestras bocas. PerdĂ el miedo a que me tacharan de loca.
Cuando te conocĂ, tambiĂ©n conocĂ una parte de mĂ.
TenĂa el deseo de crecer, caminar, bailar, cantar y hasta de soñar contigo. SĂ© que tĂş tambiĂ©n te morĂas de ganas de estar conmigo.
Cuando te conocĂ, naciĂł mi tendencia a pensarte en futuros inciertos y me disfrutaba el tiempo imaginándonos porque sabĂa que nos recordarĂamos por soñar despiertos.
Cuando te conocĂ, compartĂamos las ganas de empacar las maletas e irnos a otro planeta; pero sin darnos cuenta, cambiamos de rumbo mientras que yo solo quise llamarte amor.
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/ Stars Within /
___
From the bottom of my heart
I wish you sunlight through the night
to feel the warmth of love inside
to light u stars within, so bright
___
Berxiton 2023
___
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WHAT? WHY?
What and why
Questions we often cry
When does the thinking end
To let the feeling begin
Oh god please tell
What and why
Are we in heaven
or is this hell
I suppose
Only time
Will tell
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well-slept ignorance, from 4/1/24
i've been reading the sandman comics, so this haiku was inspired by that, and also by a particularly good night of sleep i got.
i used artbreeder for the first time today to make this one. it's interesting playing with some new programs.
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this is a love story
written in lines we don't cross
in damage deflected
a code of conduct
a social contract of caged impulses
and shared priorities ( demons )
A little me inside of you that says HEY
every time you make a decision
every time you consider the future
Love is a future
Spare the truth
spoil the man
tell the truth
ruin your relationship
Young love is a chemicalÂ
( a compulsion )
old love is an institution
I bet myself who we would become
made an investment
put some of my happiness on a reserve price
banked and traded our time
Love is not a battlefield
it's a merger
it's a bear hug
a hostile takeover
Because something in the brain
wants to breed
bloodlines and trend lines
( population decline )
it’s all going down
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Paradox
strength requires
the most vulnerability
you've ever shown,
the most self-reflection...
strength requiresthe most vulnerabilityyou’ve ever shown,the most self-reflectionyou’ve ever admittedto yourself,the most growth towardletting others in
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Somos el uno para el otro, solo que el tiempo no es el adecuado.
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Soledadđź“ť
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D. Nurkse’s A Country of Strangers: New and Selected Poems charts the ongoing career of a poet whose music was forged in the dreamlike, fraught America he came to know as a child of new immigrants. This poem originally appeared in his 2005 collection Burnt Island, a book carrying echoes and reflections of 9/11.
Searchers
We gave our dogs a button to sniff,
or a tissue, and they bounded off
confident in their training,
in the power of their senses
to re-create the body,
but after eighteen hours in rubble
where even steel was pulverized
they curled on themselves
and stared up at us
and in their soft huge eyes
we saw mirrored the longing for death:
then we had to beg a stranger
to be a victim and crouch
behind a girder, and let the dogs
discover him and tug him
proudly, with suppressed yaps,
back to Command and the rows
of empty triage tables.
But who will hide from us?
Who will keep digging for us
here in the cloud of ashes?
. .
More on this book and author:
Learn more about A Country of Strangersby D. Nurkse.
Browse other books by D. Nurkse and read new work by D. Nurkse in The Manhattan Review, The Threepenny Review, and On the Seawall.
Nurkse will join Susan Wheeler on radio for an interview and reading on WBAI-FM, 99.5, on April 25 at 9 PM Eastern Time.
Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.
To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.
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pienso
que a veces
la nostalgia
puede ser acogedora
porque
a veces
solo recuerdo
momentos embellecidos
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/ Gold & Hunger /
___
Born to survive, to sell, to conquer
sacrificing mind and shrine
and still, there will be gold and hunger
life on bones is no longer a crime
___
Berxiton 2023
___
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Dessert or desert,
Don't you understand?
One is yummy chocolate,
The other's full of sand.
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Y aun me atrevo a amar
El sonido de la luz en una hora muerta.
El color del tiempo en un muro abandonado
En mi mirada lo he perdido todo.
Es tan lejos pedir. Tan cerca saber que no hay.
- Alejandra Pizarnik.
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