Category Archives: verse and worse

nostalgia for now

Even in Kyoto hearing a cuckoo Basho missed Kyoto Basho missed Kyoto which is just a word to me but I hear Basho I hear Basho when the rain beats the windshield and I miss the rain In driving rain, … Continue reading

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To Future Generations

A poem for the summer of Ferguson, Gaza, ISIS, and Ukraine: Bertolt Brecht’s An die Nachgeborenen (1939), in my translation from the very simple and direct German. I Truly I live in dark times! A sincere word is folly. A … Continue reading

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found poetry

This may sound like Basho, but it’s actually from Tripadvisor, describing the Dilek National Park in western Turkey: Purest beach. Comfort of pine tree’s shadow. Wild pigs around of you and asking meal. Peaceful please in every season Not so … Continue reading

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West Chop poem in the Wampum Collection

In lieu of a post today, here’s a link to my poem “West Chop,” which was just published in a Martha’s Vineyard literary magazine called the Wampum Collection. It begins: Tethered sailboats hunched in a row.A gull sails the diagonal, taut … Continue reading

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a little play for Lorca

José: We just killed Federico García Lorca! Juan: We left him in a ditch and I fired two bullets into his arse for being a queer.”* Amando: You killed Lorca? You and the corporal here? José (nodding): I was there. I … Continue reading

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the scholar and his dog

Twelve centuries ago by a long Swiss lake, Pangur Bán hunted and an Irish monk looked. The monk strained for sense from knotty old books; His Celtic cat stared at the rustling rocks. The cat was sharper and more often … Continue reading

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versions of Han Shan

From Robert G. Hendricks, The Poetry of Han-Shan: A Complete, Annotated Translation of Cold Mountain: From J. P. Seaton, Cold Mountain Poems: Zen Poems of Han Shan, Shih Te, and Wang Fan-chih: And me, using their versions to attempt a … Continue reading

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doggerel by a dad

“O aid me ere I err!” bade he. “Nay, nay, I’ll not,” said she. “I’ll aid ye not–you’re overwrought,” she sputtered in her tea. “Avail me, please, I’m on my knees,” Beseeched the lad, awailing. “Peace,” said she, “your tears … Continue reading

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the hourglass

How is it that the sidewalk where tiny flip-flops flapped and trike wheels creaked is still the same slab, still cracked and pollen-streaked? Nothing shifts in a year or two yet once the years pile, everything’s new? (Washington, DC) Bookmark … Continue reading

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Syria by Eugenio Montale

They said, the ancients, that poetry is a ladder to God. Maybe it’s not like that when you read mine. But the day I knew it, that I had recovered my voice through you–loose as I was in a flock … Continue reading

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