In memory of Jon Stallworthy who nurtured till the end You have to be there at the moment when The sun works with the milk-thick fog And both of them are paper-white light. Things as they are no longer seem the same, You stand in the field, inside the…
On Loss
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[Another dear friend, Carmen Bugan, sent me these poems from her published collections]. This season God sent you a bird’s nest on the porch with three little blue eggs and a busy robin waiting every morning outside the door to sing to you of life’s joys in the heart of…
[Our dear friend Meena Alexander, poet, novelist, memoirist and distinguished Professor of English at CUNY, sent us this poem in memory of Sunder.] It seems impossible to begin to speak of those gone ahead intact, fired by breath. Through flowering mustard they race past a main road northwards…
“All poetry is about the death of the beloved.” — Faiz Ahmed Faiz (cited by Donald Hall in The Painted Bed) Jeffrey…