By Martial, Translated by Tyler Goldman
You bought yourself a low-cost house for only forty thou’.Then lost it in a city fire; they burn so often now.
Odious Chloe wrote this on her seven husbands’ graves:
Yes, I’m that Martial known all across the world for my elegiac couplets, hendecasyllables,
By Hilda (H.D.) Doolittle
In our Spring 1952 issue, we published three H.D. poems—“Sigil,” “Archer,” and “Scribe”—all of which were later included in her Selected Poems (1957).
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By Donika Kelly
Not that you ever are. The small, rough dogs lie at your feet or warm your belly.
The first time you swallow— the light, lurid and cold—
Consider the bowerbird and his obsessionof blue, and then the island light, the acacia,the grounded beasts. Here, the iron smell of blood,the sweet marrow, fields of grass and bone.
By William Logan
He was the last cowboy in Massachusetts, stabling the palomino in his mother’s garage,
By Fred Chappell
Fox spots Crow in the top of a tree.“That carrion she pecks must come to me.”He ponders how to ply his witAnd award himself the whole of it.
By Kay Ryan
You can oversellthe sea, say, orthe way we miss