Ed Roberson
Even staring out the window is changed,
the private peak above it all brought down
with the erosion of the poise between
the viewable and the mused unseen.
Dissolution so nearly changeless as not
to appear is shifting the sands inside
from what we watched, no more the steady stage
the self-dramatic days play out on    outside.
The silent portent now allowed alert
to things changing the light
a darkness
not the normal individual
mortality, but as if the epochal
heartbeat of larger elements, the seas,
the air, had mutated, become chimera,
grown wing, and routed ancestral time.
Even staring out the window, the timeless
is gone. We see coming
in the daily migration of the local geese
to the lake at evening the cities pull up
and move in unlike consternation towards and
away from the water
that had been so calming to gaze out on,
to live by, easy    to not live according to.
And now that seas are adding themselves
into the land, horizons look ominously larger,
the arrivant out of them, faster and clearer.
Now, you see the view is turned on us to frame
human agency become transparent,
light as air, before the picture blackens
as a consequence of our seeing too much
of it as only for us to use and then
use up.
The eye is not filled with seeing, with only
seeing, but with understanding the sight.
from the book ASKED WHAT HAS CHANGED / Wesleyan University Press
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One of the drafts of Elizabeth Bishop's poem, "One Art"
"19 Lines That Turn Anguish Into Art"

Dwight Garner and Parul Sehgal offer a close read of Elizabeth Bishop's famous poem, "One Art." "Bishop wasn’t a confessional poet. She was a master at containing and concealing emotion. So how did this relatively buttoned-up poet come to write such a moving poem—one that still has the power to make many of its readers weep?"

via THE NEW YORK TIMES
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Front cover of Modern Poetry in Translation
What Sparks Poetry:
Courtney Angela Brkic on Antun Branko Šimić's "The Return"


"To translate Šimić into English requires constant pruning, knocking phrases down to their lowest common denominator. My goal was faithfulness to the original while maintaining the spare intensity of Šimić’s lines, and our conversations often grew heated. I came to crave the moment my father snapped his fingers to demonstrate that I had unlocked the mystery in English."
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