detroit

Thanks but no thanks

  Thanks by W.S. Merwin   Listen with the night falling we are saying thank you we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings we are running out of the glass rooms with our mouths full of food to look at the sky and say thank you we are standing by the […]

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What’s down in the basement

  The Door by Franz Wright   Going to enter the aged horizontal cellar door   (the threshing leaves, the greenish light of the approaching storm)   you suddenly notice you’re opening the cover of an enormous book.   One that’s twice as big as you are—   but you know all about that:   […]

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Rising from the dead

  The Morning Baking by Carolyn Forche   Grandma, come back, I forgot How much lard for these rolls   Think you can put yourself in the ground Like plain potatoes and grow in Ohio? I am damn sick of getting fat like you   Think you can lie through your Slovak? Tell filthy stories […]

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Standing up by sitting down

  Rosa By Rita Dove   How she sat there, the time right inside a place so wrong it was ready.   That trim name with its dream of a bench to rest on. Her sensible coat.   Doing nothing was the doing: the clean flame of her gaze carved by a camera flash.   […]

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Reciting and resuscitating old poems

If you think, as I sometimes do when a particularly arcane poem shows up in my inbox courtesy of the Academy of American Poets’ poem-a-day feature, that poetry is written by and for the same kind of people who prefer wasabi truffles to straightforward chocolate caramels; or if you think that classic poetry has as […]

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Running away from dogs

Today I read an article in the latest Rolling Stone about roaming packs of wild dogs in Detroit.  With little money for animal control and deserted buildings, empty lots, and a declining human population, Detroit is being overrun with stray dogs.  (You can link to the article here.)  The writer visits one abandoned home filled […]

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