July 2012
2 posts
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Win a signed copy of D. Nurkse's A Night in...
aaknopf:
Click here to enter
… And she who was driving said, We know the coming disaster intimately but the present is unknowable. Which disaster, I wondered, sexual or geological? But I was shy: her beauty was like a language she didn’t speak and had never heard. From “The Present”
As promised, Alfred A. Knopf is hosting a giveaway for D. Nurkse’s beautiful new poetry collection, A...
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Alfred A. Knopf Books: "The Bars" by D. Nurkse →
aaknopf:
A poem for a summer Friday from D. Nurkse’s forthcoming collection, A Night in Brooklyn, which goes on sale next Tuesday. Stay tuned—early next week, we’ll be offering up a chance to win a signed copy.
The Bars After work I’d go to the little bars along the bright green river, Chloe’s Lounge, Cloverleaf, Barleycorn, it was like dying to sit at five p.m. with a Bud so cold it had no...
May 2012
0 posts
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A Cat and A Mouse
Poem submission by Shaun Shane
he bounced he pounced he pinned the mouse the cat bit in then chewed from limb to limb now the mouse now looking so sad now but the cat what a grin
April 2012
122 posts
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Awake
Poem submission by Kerrie O’ Brien It was years ago a bad time of things and you led us to Glencree. people had left messages all over the statues; prayers, begging prayers an inhaler, some pills. you insisted we light candles but I couldn’t bear the thought of it even kneeling proved too much so you coaxed me, carried me over. we lit them from the same wick perfect little blank sticks the...
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Cry of the Streets
“Life in the Big City as seen through the eyes of a Homeless Person”
The sun is so hot today.
I can feel the beads of sweat form upon my face,
As I try to make my way out of this rat race.
There is no finish line; I am not out to win.
I’m just trying to get back on my feet again.
But people are so unkind.
They don’t think I can do anything, even as I talk to them.
...
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Janusz Szuber's "I Had Dreams"
A poem that arrives in a single sentence brings a neat jolt of pleasure to the reader; for our final day, we offer one such by the great Polish poet Janusz Szuber, whose poems always seem forged in gratitude, even when they take on painful historical realities. In this spirit, and in acknowledgment of all that poetry can do for us, we thank you for joining us this April. We will be back in your...
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[silence]
Poem submission by randompoeticthoughts
i would do better
alone in this world
with no one to speak to me,
just leave me alone!
i just want some peace
can’t you see in my eyes?
i despise human speech,
it just takes too much time.
i don’t care if you sit there
and just shut your mouth,
you can be in my presence
but you need to learn how!
it shouldn’t be hard
to be silent for hours
but...
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Pieces (When I Was Young)
Poem submission by Bryan Edwin
When I was young, my father told me tales of indignation like suffering was the best way to feel alive. Well, it didn’t take me long to realize that it was all a lie. As righteous as the promised land was told to be, I knew it wasn’t for me. And he put on that white collar, one abandoned dream at a time saying to my mother, “Honey, it’ll...
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We Are the Poor
Poem submission by Dougie M.K.
This is the poem that writes itself In the lives of the unfortunate. That records the lives of the rich Because they understand not the truth Nor the life that they lead.
And when the poem is complete, It binds itself in the sadness of its accomplishment. This is the poem that tells the story of the truly accomplished Because, in the end, the unfortunate pull ahead...
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Deborah Digges's "The Wind Blows Through the Doors...
The final, posthumous volume by Deborah Digges, now available in a paperback edition, opens with this poem - an urgent hello-goodbye to the reader.
- Knopf Poetry Team
***
The Wind Blows Through the Doors of My Heart
The wind blows
through the doors of my heart.
It scatters my sheet music
that climbs like waves from the piano, free of the keys.
Now the notes stripped, black...
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untouched
Poem submission by Amanda Hueli
they will never touch a spinning moon against a breaking ocean. like two parallel lines running forever yearning to meet in super-market aisles amongst the vegetables, or in the open park on the frozen bench glazing over the sun.
an infinite hole is lodged between them. they want to push out the dulling light cup it, pure around their fingertips give it to the...
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Old Friends
Poem submission by artificialcensus Worn by millennia of neglect As decrepit and grey as he were, Tired bones rattled up the steepest hill in town. Umbrella’s felt – faded Submissive to Wind’s brute strength Served little to the sheltering of the fatiguing blind man.
As if the oceans had inverted, The road beared resemblance to waterfalls Carrying schools of debris – and nearly, the umbrella...
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Spellbound
Poem submission by Amanda Jo A cracking noise and the moon fell from its place between the stars
The weathered orb shattered on the dirt
And through the dust you saw a stormy-eyed woman, with braided hair and a gypsy soul,
Weaving a golden sunrise morning
She searches through the debris and drags away a smooth crescent piece
She walks tilted,
Like her left arm is heavy
Her hips jut...
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Alexander Neubauer's POETRY IN PERSON and Amy...
In Alexander Neubauer’s Poetry in Person, we are treated to a series of remarkable conversations that were recorded in the classroom of the legendary New School poetry teacher Pearl London, from the early 1970s through the mid-1990s - a time when a significant generation came of age in American poetry. Among the many visitors to her class (whom London asked to bring drafts of poems in...
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Canyonland
Poem submission by kelwomack Deep in desert sands they reached
High into space where rivers meet.
Twisting slithering through red giants
Standing shoulder to shoulder in grand alliance.
Spires of stone in mushroom form
Pillars where earth exploded and tore
Gorges who split the earth left scars
and monuments like golden Mason jars.
Swaths of crimson paint splatter and dry
Against coppery...
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Lion Boy
Poem submission by Nichole Knabe
ocean skies that widen with surprise in a big way like the earth splitting at its seams like girls with unattainable dreams breaking at the joints and the sensitive points
and at her hips the wide world ends reality bends and sends him packing because frankly there are components she is lacking
so she’ll have to recover sometime in the morning from learning that...
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Wanderlust
Poem submission by r0und-here
I sit straight in my chair, taking the red-eye out west.
Above me, my life is packed away in the overheard compartment.
I can’t help but be thankful the rest of my row is asleep.
My insomnia prevents rest,
but the idea of human interaction
sparks a wave of depression.
“Any trash, sir?”
The stewardess stands above me,
equipped with an open plastic bag.
I...
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Franz Wright's "Dead Seagull"
Franz Wright’s most recent collection, Kindertotenwald, is book of prose poems that serve to remind us how tragic is the loss of childhood, not just when we first lose it but throughout our lives. Wright, now in his late fifties, has remained alert to the hauntings of youth, as well as to surreal visitations like that of the seagull in the corn below.
- Knopf Poetry Team
***
DEAD SEAGULL
...
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HAMAKO - CHILD OF THE BEACH
Poem submission by joancarr Hamako lies in a watery grave, sad eyes watching as her life floats by.
There goes the roof of her house - her mother’s wedding kimono - her favourite doll.
There goes her grandfather’s pen. He writes such beautiful characters.
He was teaching Hamako but no the pen is gone she will never learn.
There goes the fan that her mother saved from the earthquake...
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Tongues Made of Glass
Poem submission by Shaun Shane
if only our tongues were made of glass how much more careful we would be when we speak
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Along The Road
Poem submission by another-kind-of-blue
I came today to where I was
Which seems so long ago.
For days must pass
And wheels must turn
To lead us down our road.
I met a man who I once knew
Beneath the hollow oak.
From rolling stone to stepping stone,
I told him where I’ve been;
He stopped and smiled and spoke:
“Anywhere is everywhere
And here I am today.
What makes a man
...
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James Merrill's THE CHANGING LIGHT AT SANDOVER
There is nothing else in American poetry like the late James Merrill’s multiple-prize-winning The Changing Light at Sandover, a 560-page epic poem about his evenings spent at the Ouija board with his partner, David Jackson, first published in one volume in 1982. Among other things, it is one of the only accounts of a longtime domestic partnership that we have in verse; as they sit in their...
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Chameleon Girl
Poem submission by doodlebimbee
Her life was a string of awkward moments no one else remembered.
nobody said,
“Who is this
Chameleon Girl?” when she entered a room they pretended not to notice her.
And she pretended to be a ghost.
She walked through hallways filled with glances that warped around and through her
always going somewhere
never where she was but she took up more...
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The Ballad of The Procrastinator
Poem submission by asimplenobody
From the bowels of the dark room came “I’ll do it later.” Its source, the quiet mumble of The Procrastinator.
Its body smelled of dirt and grime, its hair was unshaven, the deep black seemed to seep out from its ungodly haven.
The TV flickered COPS reruns, frozen food for dinner - would it get the work done in time, this great slothful sinner?
The screen was...
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That Ache, [Australia].
Poem submission by E.K.Merrick
That ache for the sound of the rain on a tin roof,
to be held tight during a summer’s storm,
or lie awake in each other’s sweat on a
humid Sydney night.
Familiar voices, horizons like the scars on my hands
and that soothing lick of a language.
That ache to drive north on the Pacific, speeding away from
the harbour and lights. And for an hour,
there’s...
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Marie Howe's "After the Movie"
Killer Verse: Poems of Murder and Mayhem is a surprising little volume from our Everyman’s Pocket Poets library. It contains everything from anonymous “murder ballads” and verse by the likes of Thomas Hardy and Robert Browning to more contemporary entries by Frank Bidart, Carol Ann Duffy, and Kimiko Hahn. The below, by Marie Howe, is one of those rare poems that actually captures...
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Happy Shiny People
Poem submission by life-between-words
Thoughtless, I wander,
aimlessly roam streets
on this spring evening
when I saw it.
Is it a dream –
in this big city
such a tranquil place
– I don’t know.
I find myself looking,
can’t quite define
what or who
I’m looking for.
Golden sunset bathes
small windows of serene
houses with
happy shiny people.
Somebody’s husband and child
so similar...
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On Time
Poem submission by Melissa Watt
Nipper nearly dips his muzzle in the cylinder phonograph. His paws double in the glass. His head cocks, thoughts whipping like punchballs back and forth: Where does the voice come from? After all, it’s seeing that’s believing. Just ask the signalman or witnesses of mutants, or anyone who has seen a clock. We’ve seen time pass in watches, in...
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The Kingfisher
Poem submission by samcrossman1981
How did you know what you were meant to be?
The Kingfisher said, to his friend in the tree,
I didn’t they said, I was born with this beak,
I can dive really well, for the fish that I seek,
I leap off this branch and with speed and with poise,
I fish for my fish, without making a noise,
The Kingfisher sighed and agreed it’s innate,
But confessed to...
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Alfred A. Knopf Books Tumblr →
Thanks for coming to our event last night! Don’t forget to follow Knopf on Tumblr for a year-round celebration of poetry, books, and Borzois.
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Sharon Olds's "Possessed"
One of the pleasures of knowing a poet over many years is to watch a life’s journey play out in verse, perhaps in tandem with our own, or lighting our way helpfully just ahead, or even just behind, allowing us a good look back at our own experience. Over the years, we’ve seen Sharon Olds find her balance on both sides of the parental equation. She has written frequently as the...
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Impair
Poem submission by Cooper Callinan
dull the encounter of being, tire the senses to a standstill, maybe we can breathe. dispose of the intellect, trade imagination for currency, maybe we can sleep. oh, it is a terrible sun to evolve with, shoes staggering achingly into years. ah, it is some telling of the paper, maimed honest to have filled its page. and of what else, but to find recovery in...
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Ballerina
Poem submission by Megan Cordero
I curl my feet up
Bone by bone
Until I’ve risen
To my toes
Ankles tight
Calves and thighs
Pressed together
Bottom in
Lift my chest
Shoulders down
Arms curved up
Fingers reaching
To the sky
And I’m floating
Light as air
Bourrée
Piqué
Port de bras
Floating through the clouds
Leaping
And I’m in
Another world
Gliding through the atmosphere
...
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Poet's Blade
Poem submission by chaos-industries
Sheathed in my chest,
Drunk from my blood.
Pain making me move,
Giving reasons to exist.
Gripping the bone hilt
I pull it free, applying
Crimson tip to paper,
Speaking neither love
Nor blasphemy,
Yet something
There between.
Words flow free
Like blood and tears
Then the well runs dry,
I must dip my quill in ink.
The blade plunges.
New...
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Alan Hollinghurst's THE STRANGER'S CHILD
Alan Hollinghurst’s widely acclaimed new novel, The Stranger’s Child, is a century-spanning story set in England and built around the myth of a single poem: “Two Acres” is written in 1913 by Cecil Valance, an aristocratic young man who, in the book’s opening, visits a Cambridge school chum, George Sawle, for the weekend; before he returns to university, Cecil composes...
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Simon & the Sea
Poem submission by Lynn Jago
Simon thought the ocean a puddle
He stepped in and found himself in trouble
All around strange wonderful creatures
Grotesque and joyful were their features
.
All seemed to play, fair and square
Nobody pointed, nobody stared
What a pleasant place! thought Simon
When I go back, I must remember where to find them!
.
The land felt so murky after that
He...
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LEARNING HOW TO BE
Poem submission by Kathy Short
I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I don’t know what I wanna say or do. I don’t even know what I want to be tomorrow, But I know I want to be like you.
The way that you talk or the way that you walk Aren’t that important to me. It’s the kindness and love and strength that you bring To everyone you meet.
If I am a doctor, a lawyer, a sailor, A basketball...
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Boats In My Sky
Poem submission by John E. Becker
He put boats in my sky And on that day I died They floated to heaven As I followed along Playing sweet music together Singing their song
The skies were green And the seas were blue Where to sail Only St. Peter knew My face reflected In the waves of truth The clouds broke free And we fell through
Now we sailed Past stars and suns To a place of kindness A land...
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Kevin Young’s “Serenade”
In the long aftermath of grief, the right words have a compensatory beauty, as in these lines by Kevin Young.
- Knopf Poetry Team
***
Serenade
I wake to the cracked plate
of moon being thrown
across the room—
that’ll fix me
for trying sleep.
Lately even night
has left me—
now even the machine
that makes the rain
has stopped sending
the sun away.
It is late,
or...
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The Artist
Poem submission by feeltheillinoise
he hoarded towers, the trembling mountains the choked the valleys of his floor. in the fires, suffocating, velvet theater seats are breaking, and everything that seemed doesn’t seem so anymore. maybe it’s the fire’s light- the need to be remembered or remember what we were; in lists and fists and movie scripts, in everything we’ve got...
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Song of teardrops
Poem submission by sutakimu
I’m trying to understand this suffering sky,
you painted black much of your time
Empathy, chemical reaction to my thoughts
Lightning, thunder to break my stare,
Explodes, ravishes a rainstorm,
your innermost spark belongs there
wonderful abyss, can’t be denied or washed away
Drops falling only on my face,
reflection of every single smile I make,
catching...
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Bread
Poem submission by Elisabeth Watson
It was bread that survived. Motives undisclosed and Holy insofar as it was silent.
All other furniture was lost to the war: Ligament and password, loves uncataloged and cataloged, the universe as it was before Copernicus– innocent as we left it, sleeping on the hearth.
Should you find yourself Homeless with a stove but not a language, Salt the flour,...
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Maxine Hong Kingston's I LOVE A BROAD MARGIN TO MY...
In Maxine Hong Kingston’s verse memoir, we are carried along in the flow of the author’s experiences as a Chinese-American writer, mother, teacher, wife, and time traveler, as she brings us to China and back again, contemplating her multiple home landscapes, and even reconsiders the fate of Fa Mook Lan, the “woman warrior” whose story she popularized a generation ago. In...
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The Phantom of a Lonely Opera
Poem submission by missyankey
~ Act One ~
It was a beautiful Opera.
Grand, classic, and timeless.
People travelled for miles,
Vying to get tickets to the greatest show on earth.
They dressed in their finest,
Competing to stand out;
But everybody apart from her was bland
In comparison to the deep rich colours of the costumes.
Excitedly they talked and chattered as they absorbed
The magical...
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This Road
Poem submission by dreamingele
I lift the lever of a lock on an old dusty fence
with the sun position at the highest point of the day
I take one last look at what used to be
one last look of what I though was me
One foot in front of the other, I step onto the dirt road
tangled hair
dirty nails
unappealing clothes
these shoes have neva came across this road
You may ask, girl where ya...
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My Blue Dress
Poem submission by conorbeales19
Oh, doesn’t he look rather pretty?
Oh, wouldn’t you agree?
When he puts on his blue dress
He knows he looks the best,
How I wish it were me
Now look as he walks on by,
His eyes the blue of the sky,
When he puts on his blue dress
He knows he looks the best,
How I wish it were I
And so he sings:
My blue dress, my blue dress
Good lord, don’t I look the best,
The...
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Vera Pavlova's "Who will winter my immortality"
Today’s selection is by Vera Pavlova, a Russian poet whose signature is the very short poem—in her country, there are thousands of these in print. Her first volume in English, If There is Something to Desire, gives us a hundred poems—a good sampling of her rueful lines on love and passion, childhood and motherhood, the call to poetry, and many other subjects. (Translation from the Russian is...
