Selected by Alice Quinn and Matthew Sitman "The Day of the Sun" by Vijay Seshadri: Arriving early at the limit of understanding, I managed to find a good seat, and settled in with the others, who were fanning away the heat with their programs full of blank pages. The orchestra was in place, and soon … Continue reading A Poem For Sunday
Selected by Alice Quinn and Matthew Sitman: "Girl Riding Bareback" by Chase Twichell: These late summer afternoons are so like childhood’s they take my breath and breathe it with me, take it and breathe it without me. Curved hot muscle of the neck, the chestnut shoulders flowing through the uncut hay— old August daydream come … Continue reading A Poem For Saturday
Selected by Alice Quinn and Matthew Sitman "A Memory" by Charles Baudelaire: All this was long ago, but I do not forget Our small white house, between the city and the farms; The Venus, the Pomona,–I remember yet How in the leaves they hid their chipping plaster charms; And the majestic sun at evening, setting … Continue reading A Poem For Friday
by Alice Quinn and Matthew Sitman
"Digging in the Garden of Age I Uncover a Live Root" by May Swenson:
The smell of wet geraniums. On furry
leaves, transparent drops rounded
as cats’ eyes seen sideways.
Smell of the dark earth, and damp
brick of the pots you held, tamped empty.
Flash of the new trowel. Your eyes
green in greenhouse light. Smell of
your cotton smock, of your neck
in the freckled shade of your hair.
A gleam of sweat in your lip’s scoop.
Pungent geranium leaves, their wet
smell when our widening pupils met.
(Reprinted with permission of The Literary Estate of May Swenson, forthcoming in May Swenson: Collected Poems (Library of America, 2013) . All rights reserved. Photo by Flickr user ndrwfgg) Update from a reader:
by Alice Quinn and Matthew Sitman "Song to Life Giver," translated from the Aztec by Peter Everwine: What lies in store for us, Life Giver? Up there, above us, you forge your designs, you command them, and, perhaps, in your disgust, you hide from us on earth your light and glory. What lies in store … Continue reading A Poem For Sunday
by Alice Quinn and Chris Bodenner "Waking in Greenpoint in Late August" by D. Nurkse: We wanted so much that there be a world as we lay naked on our gray-striped mattress, staring up at trowel mark on the eggshell-blue ceiling and waiting, waiting for twilight, darkness, dawn, marriage, the child, the hoarse names of … Continue reading A Poem For Saturday