Interlude: Other People's Poetry

Image: NASA/JPL-Caltech

by Louise Glück

There is a moment after you move your eye away
when you forget where you are
because you are living, it seems,
somewhere else, in the silence of the night sky.

You've stopped being here in the world.
You're in a different place,
a place where human life has no meaning.

You're not a creature in a body.
You exist as the stars exist,
participating in their stillness, their immensity.

Then you're in the world again.
At night, on a cold hill,
taking the telescope apart.

You realize afterward
not that the image is false
but the relation is false.

You see again how far away
every thing is from every other thing.


At Long Last

Some poems come easy and slip seamlessly into publication or, just as likely, the trash. Others take years to make it onto the page, years to refine, and still years after that to find a literary home. This poem was one of them. 

So. Finally, with gratitude and no small sense of relief, I can say: 

"The Death of the Lobster" is up now in the latest edition of Public Pool.


Another Bird Poem, If You Can Believe That

I'm honored to be a part of Monstering magazine's inaugural issue.

You can read my poem "Ketoconazole" here. It even comes with its own soundtrack.


One New Poem at The Murmur House

Amaryllis belladonna by Louis van Houtte, 1861.

The latest issue of The Murmur House is all about falling.

You can read my contribution, "Amaryllis," here.


Performance of a Lifetime

Dr. Moran tapped his heavy silver pen against a sheaf of test results. “Well,” he said, “I’ve found the problem.”

I’d arrived enervated in his office a few weeks ago, drifting through the door in a fog of weakness and fatigue. Headaches hammered me all day. I was 23 years old and my bones ached. I couldn’t feel my feet. My guts felt oily and torqued. Once a month or so I slipped into a hot, dizzy spell that made the floor slant and my eyes blur. None of this was new.

Want to read the rest? Click here or, better yet, go to your local bookstore and buy the summer issue of Bitch magazine.

Buy a few copies, actually. It's good.


One New Poem

Lauren Treece via Flickr // CC BY-ND 2.0

to the mice inside the walls

to us out here
the scrabbling bustle
of your busyness
sounds the same.

little neighbors, have you noticed
the volume
in these rooms

an uptick 
in the number of tissues
in the bedroom’s
wicker wastebasket?

are we leaving 
more crumbs
of pie & pizza
on the kitchen floor,
more herbal tea boxes
and wine bottles
in the recycling bin?

maybe this time 
is only as strange 
as any other
for you,
who have never before
seen january—
for you,
who will never see 
a november


One Poem in Qu

"Luncheon of the Boating Party" by Pierre-Auguste Renoir

I went on some pretty bad dates last year. The worst one turned into a poem.

(I recommend taking a very close look at the action in the upper-right corner of the Renoir above.)

"Blind Date, Phillips Collection" is out now in Qu Literary Magazine

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