Sunlight, yellow, on an upright gable
standing by waste-ground, a bright autumn sky
behind it and a foreground of low rubble,
transforms place into geometry—
It’s easy to talk, and writing words on the page
doesn’t involve much risk as a general rule:
You might as well be knitting late at night
in a warm room, in a soft, treacherous light…
Nurses and nuns—
their sails whiter than those
of the yachts in the bay, they come and go
on winged feet, most of them, or in ‘sensible’ shoes.
There is a map of the city which shows the bridge that was never built.
A map which shows the bridge that collapsed; the streets that never existed.
It is with great sadness that we announce the death of one of our most esteemed poets, Ciaran Carson. Ciaran had been with us from the beginning, and we will miss him. Our hearts go out to his wife and children, Deirdre, Manus, Gerard, and Mary.Continue Reading
Starting with his 1976 publication of THE NEW ESTATE and finishing with the call-and-response translation work in FROM ELSEWHERE (2014), Carson guides us through his imaginative landscape in a new selection that includes poems from thirteen volumes written over nearly forty years.Continue Reading
Her Muse means water, the moisture on the banks,
which can be awakened by a drop of oil.
The fall semester at Wake Forest is in full swing, a time of year we welcome heartily because it means we benefit from the new energy of our student interns as they begin their work with us. We have two returnees from last year and three new interns, all of whom have the gumption and…Continue Reading
October its brilliance
In its arms
the condemned leaves
with dying beautifully
It never mattered that there was once a vast grieving:
trees on their hillsides, in their groves, weeping—
a plastic gold dropping
through seasons and centuries to the ground—Continue Reading