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Working unpoetically
This was probably my least poetic National Poetry Month ever–not that the label matters, really, but spring is usually a good writing season for me. I did read poetry but didn’t write or revise a blessed thing. Instead of feeling poetic, I’ve just been really, really tired. Maybe it’s Covid aftermath, or seasonal allergies, or…
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Magical education
Monday I’ll teach Magic 101. At stake: what is magic–what are its sources, what can it do, and how is it supposed to differ from science or religion? Does it work mechanically, through wands and staffs and rings and words, or supernaturally, by more-than-human assistance, or in some other fashion? Can anyone be trained to…
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Incantations from the snow globe
I’m not living in a snow globe exactly–the precipitation in Virginia this April is rain and petals–but I came down with Covid a week ago so I have definitely been living behind glass. It wasn’t a severe case, and in fact I first mistook it for a sinus infection because the most unpleasant symptom was…
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Mycocosmic and plutonic
Big news arrived this week: Wednesday morning, I talked by phone with Jeffrey Levine, who told me that Diane Seuss had named my next poetry book, Mycocosmic, runner-up for the Dorset Prize, and they want to publish it with a $1000 honorarium, likely in winter 2025. I said yes. I’m still stunned. My adoration for…
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Poetry reading (and readings: here comes AWP)
Buds on the maple, daffodils up. The annual faculty reviews are complete; a weeklong visiting writer gig we hosted went well; and the end of my role as Department Head feels closer. Two colleagues seem to be getting through a difficult time with flying colors, and I played a small role in helping them, which…
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Sprains, scams, and spells
March got ahead of itself, blowing in like a lion well before February’s end. Everything seems to be on the move–including me, although I sprained my ankle last week by glancing down at an irritating text as I was walking home, tripping down a short flight of steps, and landing hard. Such a classic consequence…
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Flares, small and celestial
I’ve been thinking about smallness, so it was fascinating to read, this weekend, Jeannine Hall Gailey’s dazzling new poetry collection, Flare, Corona, a book that explores parallel crises on many scales, from the microscopic to the telescopic. I plan to teach it so I snagged an advance review copy, but it’s now available for pre-order…
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She carries me
In the Belly As a woman carries an insect, unconscious of the sign it shapes with diplomatic footfalls across her skin, she carries me. As a lake lifts the sky’s image, all burnished admiration, or proffers a crushed cup, a leaf, a rainbow slick of grease. As your network of neurochemicals and electricity carries, through…
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Easy poetry
“Excitement comes from being lazy and fun loving. O’Hara worked hard, but he also took it easy. His Collected Poems are a manifesto of the high aesthetic rewards that accrue from a life—albeit a tragically abbreviated life—of taking easiness as the gold standard. Like Warhol’s professed love of easy art (or art that was easy to make), O’Hara’s…
LESLEY WHEELER 