tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30303575795436860452024-03-06T05:09:01.359-05:00Tasty MorselsSavoring the Accidental Abundances of LifeSanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.comBlogger1586125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-6246597805961752752018-04-30T06:04:00.000-04:002018-04-30T07:29:40.881-04:00Not one more refugee death, by Emmy PérezAnd just like that, my #NPM2018 celebrations end with a poem today by Emmy Pérez.
Not one more refugee death
by Emmy Pérez
A river killed a man I loved,And I love that river still—María Meléndez
1.
Thousands of fish killed after Pemex
spill in el Río Salado and everyone
runs out to buy more bottled water.
Here, our river kills more crossers
than the sun, than the Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-531341979804218862018-04-29T05:55:00.000-04:002018-04-29T22:37:33.106-04:00We Lived Happily During the War, by Ilya Kaminsky
Today, a poem by Ilya Kaminsky, who I heard about only this month via a Poetry magazine podcast.
We Lived Happily During the War
by Ilya Kaminsky
And when they bombed other people’s houses, we
protested
but not enough, we opposed them but not
enough. I was
in my bed, around my bed America
was falling: invisible house by invisible house by invisible house.
I took a chair Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-32219936992016964652018-04-28T04:05:00.000-04:002018-04-28T04:05:08.875-04:00Old Addresses, by Chekwube DanladiToday, a poem by Chekwube O. Danladi
OLD ADDRESSES
by Chekwube O. Danladi
Sloppily shorn nappy hairsA half full bed
Stirring abovethe seizure of thewashing machineA junkie for neglect rending
the half empty bedFinger paint artpretending to gestureChasing your face in a dreamwhere I'm sitting on it
You as a girl when youused to bedancing with a black boy prom date
Three parallel Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-70424098377316442672018-04-27T03:50:00.000-04:002018-04-27T03:50:19.228-04:00At Twilight on the Road to Sogamoso, by Maurice Kilwein Guevara
Today, a poem by Maurice Kilwein Guevara.
At Twilight on the Road to Sogamoso
by Maurice Kilwein Guevara
The sun is beginning to go down
over a field of yellow onions. The edges
of the clouds are almost pink, and at this hour
the maguey rises up like a flower of dark blades.
I worked so long today I have forgotten
my own hunger. It takes a full minute
for me to remember a word ISanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-31059389287911859012018-04-26T03:51:00.000-04:002018-04-26T04:57:04.441-04:00At the school dances white and black girls shook on the floor, by Anais Duplan
Today, a poem by Anaïs Duplan, from the Bennington Review.
[AT THE SCHOOL DANCES WHITE AND BLACK GIRLS SHOOK ON THE FLOOR.]
At the school dances, black and white girls shook on the floor.
A crowd of trees formed around them. There was a countdown
to the day when everyone would be shot. The administration said
it was all right not to go to school that day so Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-64144755237155831562018-04-25T00:30:00.000-04:002018-04-25T00:30:29.310-04:00@Allah, by Anjuli Fatima Raza KolbToday, a poem by Anjuli Fatima Raza Kolb
@Allah
by Anjuli Fatima Raza Kolb
In a seaside desert port
that wasn’t yet a city
our grandfather built a wide house
and called it gulistan
There were no roses there
just the new government
four children that would be seven and a porch
where he stitched shoes and mixed paste
for paper maché book bindings
HeSanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-40212764213446819012018-04-24T04:58:00.000-04:002018-04-24T04:58:14.538-04:00One Night I Will Return to My Birthplace, by Majid NaficyToday, a poem by Majid Naficy
One Night I Will Return to My Birthplace
by Majid Naficy
(Translation by Elizabeth T Gray Jr)
One night I will return to my birthplace
to stand on my rooftop
and pick stars.
Father will say, ‘Look, There!
Don’t you see the Seven Brothers?’
I will stretch out my hands
and caress their unsheathed swords.
Then the nightly battle will begin.
Together we will Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-28014485436410291342018-04-23T05:33:00.000-04:002018-04-23T06:38:23.024-04:00I Invite My Parents to a Dinner Party, by Chen ChenToday, a poem by Chen Chen which was featured just last week in the Academy of American Poets' Poem-a-day feature.
I Invite My Parents to a Dinner Party
by Chen Chen
In the invitation, I tell them for the seventeenth time
(the fourth in writing), that I am gay.
In the invitation, I include a picture of my boyfriend
& write, You’ve met him two times. But this time,
you will ask him Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-48075431251606367642018-04-22T12:42:00.002-04:002018-04-22T12:45:50.985-04:00The Only Thing I Imagine .., by Xochiquetzal Candelaria
Today, a poem by Xochiquetzal Candelaria
The Only Thing I Imagine Luz Villa Admires about Her Husband’s Gun–
by Xochiquetzal Candelaria
is the six-chambered cylinder,
the spinnable heart,
how it clicks into place,
lonely but strong by design.
She understands its negative worth,
how it holds in the dark
and withstands what is held,
how it burns and smells
of Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-15658477998404322792018-04-21T05:30:00.000-04:002018-04-21T05:30:01.380-04:00Things We Carry on the Sea, by Wang Ping
Today a poem by Wang Peng.
__
Things We Carry on the Sea
by Wang Ping
We carry tears in our eyes: good-bye father, good-bye mother
We carry soil in small bags: may home never fade in our hearts
We carry names, stories, memories of our villages, fields, boats
We carry scars from proxy wars of greed
We carry carnage of mining, droughts, floods, genocides
We carry dust of our families Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-20957748221440025902018-04-20T06:06:00.000-04:002018-05-03T12:34:50.433-04:00Trailing Clouds of Glory, Vijay SeshadriToday, a poem by Vijay Seshadri.
Trailing Clouds of Glory by Vijay Seshadri
Even though I’m an immigrant,the angel with the flaming sword seems fine with me.He unhooks the velvet rope. He ushers me into the club.Some activity in the mosh pit, a banquet here, a panhandler there,a gray curtain drawn down over the infinitely curving lunette,Jupiter in its crescent phase, huge,a vista of aSanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-71929862522177652932018-04-19T05:22:00.000-04:002018-04-19T05:25:50.333-04:00breaking away to the u.s., by Jose B. GonzalezToday a poem by José B. González___
breaking away to the u.s.
by José B. González
finally,
a day so perfect that
this morning’s awakening bombs
are overtaken by a woman’s wind chimes
of “tamales, tamales.”
on the way to the airport
iguanas hang upside down,
even they smile.
along farms and fields
rotten bullet seeds
are overtaken by flowering weeds.
on the side of the highway
a tall Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-91269772771637948662018-04-18T06:26:00.000-04:002018-04-18T06:31:46.438-04:00Make Believe by Jaswinder BolinaToday a poem by Jaswinder Bolina.
Make Believe
by Jaswinder Bolina
We will eventually be archaeology, but now in America
I tell my young daughter the new headlights are a bluish-white instead
of the murky yellow of my upbringing.
She’s busy with her bubble-making, her dig in the flower bed,
her pantomimed banquet, phantom guests
dining on her small handfuls of Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-91232234062887759472018-04-17T01:41:00.000-04:002018-04-17T04:34:59.785-04:00Homewrecker by Ocean VuongToday a poem by Ocean Vuong, whose debut collection 'Night Sky With Exit Wound' has won rave reviews not only in the US but also in the UK, where it won the prestigious T. S. Eliot Prize for poetry in 2017. There are so many poems of his I could have chosen but am randomly going to choose one as there is no way to decide which one of the many gems to post.
Homewrecker
by Ocean&Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-89321418042398288882018-04-16T01:41:00.004-04:002018-04-17T04:50:11.964-04:00Elegy by Aracelis Girmay
Today a poem by Aracelis Girmay, an American poet whose work I found a year or two ago via Poetry magazine and was blown away.
Elegy
by Aracelis Girmay
What to do with this knowledge that our living is not guaranteed?
Perhaps one day you touch the young branch
of something beautiful. & it grows & grows
despite your birthdays & the death certificate,
Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-47127718079263320432018-04-15T00:39:00.000-04:002018-04-15T00:39:18.671-04:00OFF WHITE, by Venessa Marco
Today's poem is by Venessa Marco, a performance poet from NYC. Listen to her perform her poem, Off White, below
I found a transcribed version on some page (see below) but you should really listen to her as I am not sure this is exactly the format in which she wrote it for her performance.
OFF WHITE By Venessa MarcoThey say I’m off white, high yellow, bright brightI do all Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-23173452395082438082018-04-14T00:01:00.003-04:002018-04-17T04:19:09.535-04:00Gatekeepers, by Juan Delgado
Today a poem by the Mexican-American poet, Juan Delgado.
Gatekeepers
by Juan Delgado
1.
A crow gliding over a ravine was
The sign his eyes were waiting for.
They thought they were ready to cross.
The tumbleweed listening to a cricket
And seeing a line of ants snaking in
Was the figure of his younger sister,
Huddled by him, asking for a campfire.
They made it as far as a Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-85693973321898119732018-04-13T23:29:00.000-04:002019-06-30T23:26:05.547-04:00Deja Vu, by Carmen Gimenez Smith
Today, a
poem by Carmen Giménez Smith.
Déjà Vu
by Carmen
Giménez Smith
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It happened to me once.
Winter came, and snow quilted every inch.
I stood on the soapbox, as I was told,
and made staggering accusations. The public ignored,
so I retreated behind the potted yew.
I was waiting for a Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-90659714034340927472018-04-12T04:03:00.003-04:002018-04-17T04:20:22.591-04:00ABC for Refugees, by Monica Sok
Today's poem is ABC for Refugees, by Monica Sok from the December 2017 issue of Poetry magazine. I loved it when I first heard this poem few months ago - yes - heard it because this one too is worth listening to or at least reading aloud to hear the musicality in it.....
Here's how it starts.. Cherub-bee-dee, cherub-bee-dum...I can't stop saying that again and again! ;-)
Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-30997174818242874322018-04-11T23:00:00.000-04:002018-04-17T04:20:35.170-04:00Iron, by Elizabeth AcevedoToday's poem is also from this month's issue of Poetry Magazine - Iron, by Elizabeth Acevedo.
Like yesterday, today is a poem which you must listen to instead of read, especially as Acevedo is a National Poetry Slam Champion. So, I'm not going to cut and paste the poem but instead leave you with these dramatic lines the poem starts with...
And although I am a poet, I am not the bullet;
Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-11486029244375533022018-04-10T06:02:00.001-04:002018-04-17T04:20:45.301-04:00Scientific Method, by Paul TranToday's poem is Scientific Method by Paul Tran and was featured recently in a Poetry Magazine podcast, since it was published in the April 2018 issue of the magazine.
I am not going to cut-and-paste the full poem here. Not necessarily due to copyright reasons - you can go read the poem at the link above, if you want..... but I would highly recommend hearing about the background to the poemSanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-20876284481829187882018-04-09T03:25:00.001-04:002018-04-17T04:21:01.055-04:00Second Attempt Crossing, by Javier ZamoraA poem today by Javier Zamora, whose poems about immigration, refugees, and exiles hit a nerve like few others!
This poem is from the Nov 2016 issue of Poetry magazine. You can also listen to a podcast where the magazine's editors discuss the poem.
Second Attempt Crossing
by Javier Zamora
For Chino
In the middle of that desert that didn’t look like sand
and sand only,
in Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-38838161574423511972018-04-08T08:52:00.000-04:002018-04-17T04:32:11.507-04:00Despite My Efforts Even My Prayers Have Turned into Threats, by Kaveh Akbar
A poem for today by the Iranian-American poet Kaveh Akbar, from the Nov 2016 issue of Poetry magazine.
Despite My Efforts Even My Prayers Have Turned into Threats
by Kaveh Akbar
Holy father I can’t pretend
I’m not afraid to see you again
but I’ll say that when the time
comes I believe my courage
will expand like a sponge
cowboy in water. My earth-
father was far braver than me —
Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-45884337936535045532018-04-07T23:30:00.000-04:002018-04-17T04:21:50.691-04:00Rites to Allay the Dead, by Amit Majmudar Today, a poem by Dr. Amit Majmudar - Rites to Allay the Dead, from the Jan 2005 issue of Poetry magazine.
Rites to Allay the Dead
by Amit Majmudar
It is never enough to close their door.You have to calm the ripples where they last slept.The sandals that remember where they steppedOut of the world must be picked up off the floor,"Their pictures not just Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3030357579543686045.post-29269144911487027842018-04-06T08:53:00.001-04:002018-04-24T06:08:48.087-04:00Self-Portrait in a Wire Jacket, by Monica Youn
Today, a poem by Monica Youn, an American poet and lawyer (with education at University of Oxford, Yale Law School, Princeton University!)
This poem via the Academy of American Poets website.
Self-Portrait in a Wire Jacket
by Monica Youn
To section off
is to intensify,
to deaden.
Some surfaces
cannot be salvaged.
Leave them
to lose function,
to persist only
as armature,
holding Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0