Stand on your head. You’ll see that she’s a boatWinding between the waves of wailing walls,Careening through the rush of siren-calls,A small ship on a violent ocean. SmoteBy sea-wind, still unyielding, she’s afloat,And unabashed by bitter gales and gallsShe sails through the city’s shifting . . . . Continue Reading »
“There is a place down there, not saddened by torments but only by darkness, where the laments do not sound as shrieks but are sighs.” —Purgatorio, VII: 29–31 What he did not do, his cause for grief.An eternity of regret.One long dark night without relief. Time to brood, never to . . . . Continue Reading »
The clouds are fused with amber fireAs vultures climb a dirgy gyre,Babel building with each bird,Glutted on the primal Word.Later one lights on my head,Its talons tight, its wings still spread. —Steven Knepper Image by Jo Naylor via Creative Commons. Image cropped. . . . . Continue Reading »
In Bethany, what might the Lord have saidHad Martha never questioned Mary’s ways;If Mary were the one to speak instead?A very different question she might raise:“Lord, don’t you care that Martha will not sitAnd be attentive to your tender voice”?“O Mary, Mary, this I will admit:It’s true . . . . Continue Reading »
There are many great books soon to be released on this side of the Atlantic. Here's a simple preview to get you ready. Continue Reading »
Dana Gioia joins the podcast to discuss his new book of poetry, Meet Me at the Lighthouse: Poems. Continue Reading »
No Apologies: Why Civilization Depends on the Strength of Men is the latest in a string of brilliant offerings from Anthony Esolen: Out of the Ashes: Rebuilding American Culture, Nostalgia: Going Home in a Homeless World, and Sex and the Unreal City. Utilizing his . . . . Continue Reading »
Litter Crew Ahead.Their budget’s in the red,but still they have a signthat has always said:Litter Crew Ahead. The younger and the older,the timid and the bolder,in a ragged linethey’re down below the shoulder.In rain that makes them colder, they patiently collectthe things that we eject,our . . . . Continue Reading »
It seems a silly thing, an object ratherFor study by the great pathologists,That anyone should live in fear of Eros;But just think how their names have swelled to lists: The god who chased a woman to a tree;The Moor who crushed the breath within his love;That queen ensconced within a strange . . . . Continue Reading »
—After photographs by Dorothea Lange taken in the Texas Panhandle Alone, a woman stands in black and whitesurveying a discolored sky aboveand nothing on the earth around her, savea windmill, with its blades congealed on film, vain, futile. Pride has not deserted her,her stance proclaims; but . . . . Continue Reading »
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