Ursula K. Le Guin
I think how fine my mother was.
Her doings and her things were lovable.
Her turquoise bracelets, her violet
dinner dress with a jeweled waist.
The way when she was undressing
she'd go around with her nylons unhitched.
I think of all this now with tenderness
and comfort in the recollection.

Oh I was so angry at her when she died
for dying, but at last that's gone
and she comes to me again with silver
and turquoise on her wrists
in the sunlight.
from the book SO FAR SO GOOD / Copper Canyon Press
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ANGE MLINKO REVIEWS JOHN KOETHE'S WALKING BACKWARDS: POEMS 1966–2016
 
"In a prefatory poem, an ars poetica written to launch this chronological selection, Koethe unabashedly takes us back to where it all began: 'Yeats and Frost, Pound and Eliot, / Stevens, Moore, seen as from a peak in Darien in a college course.' What flows forward from this backward-looking poem is an evolving, cohering, always-recapitulating testament to an inner life torn between the perspectives of a fundamentally Romantic poet and a philosophically 'die-hard realist.'”

via THE NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS
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J. Michael Martinez's hand-written version of Rilke's "[You who have never arrived]"

"Rilke’s unpublished missive to a distant beloved became an archetype for much of my sense of the poetic: an epistle (in)to the unknown fueled by a compassion that comprehends radical otherness as an aspect of the self exceeding the self."
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