Diane Seuss
You would not have loved him,
my friend the scholar
decried. He brushed his teeth,
if at all, with salt. He lied,
and rarely washed
his hair. Wiped his ass
with leaves or with his hand.
The top of  his head would have barely
reached your tits. His pits
reeked, as did his deathbed.

But the nightingale, I said.
from the journal POETRY
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Color headshot of a thoughtful Ross Gay
Ross Gay: Finding Joy in Sorrow

Ross Gay talks about his new book, Inciting Joy, written during the pandemic. "I've just been more acutely attuned to the ways that we tend to one another, way more blown away with how beautiful and loving we are. Because the book was written at that time, and in a certain kind of way that's what the book is emerging from, it's being written out of a kind of ruins."

via CNN
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What Sparks Poetry:
Boris Dralyuk on Julia Nemirovskaya's "Verse"

"'Verse,' by the Russophone American poet Julia Nemirovskaya (whose surname, it occurs to me, might share an origin with Nemerov’s in the town of Nemyriv, Ukraine), spoke to me straight away, as Julia’s poems always do. I’ve been translating her work for over a decade now, developing a vocabulary in English that isn’t quite mine and isn’t quite hers (how could it be, since she writes in Russian?) but is very much ours.
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