Iniquity, O Lord, can be delicious:always in season, always tender, sweet,blushing, and aromatic. Not capriciousit always hangs low, begging us to eat.One night, I stripped a neighbor’s tree of pears—not grade A pears, but seconds grown for swine—taking them not because the fruit was . . . . Continue Reading »
during the years i taught scripture to adults— i would tell them this is my favorite book and for that lesson i would play handel’s messiah: this is what revelation would sound like if put to music the alleluia chorus got king george to stand up but this . . .this is adoration in D . . . . Continue Reading »
A turkey, turnkey, turncoat, dovecote, dovewaddles and wavers and wings her way above,metempsychoses, metamorphosescrossing horizons, orisons, seasons, seas,slow-shutter shudder, each shape reshaped, rebornas cochon, cocoon, raccoon, acorn, corn,and art, like nature, thinking nothing of it—a . . . . Continue Reading »
The Lord God, the Almighty, simply said,“Do not eat any fruit from this tree. ItMay taste delicious, but its aftertasteWill make you realize that you ate in haste,And you will wish that you had never bitInto its luscious poison. Use your head.”When Eve and Adam gamboled naked inTheir garden, . . . . Continue Reading »
My grandpa built a go-cart out of junk:An old lawnmower engine, scraps of metal, A cupboard door, a cushion. The result Was forty miles-per-hour of swerving joy— Flung gravel, wind-snagged bugs, my father’s arms Vined around mine to help me steer. We gunned it past the neighbors’ humdrum . . . . Continue Reading »
In Paterson, there are no explosions, betrayals, tragedies, or graphic depictions of violence or sex—just enchanting scenes that celebrate the beauties of everyday life. Continue Reading »
“Between the essence and the descentFalls the shadow.”—T. S. Eliot, The Hollow Men“. . . All things proceed to a joyful consummation.”—T. S. Eliot, Murder in the CathedralThe candles lit, the altar boysAssume their seats. The smoke ascends.The incense, in procession, triesTo lift our . . . . Continue Reading »
His limbs splayed, writhing, as he hung there, Murmuring of a kingdom somewhere The Roman guards had never been, The sun beat on his darkened head. He barely heard what the good thief said, So swollen and plugged his ears were then. “I thirst,” his mother heard him cry. “Why have you left me . . . . Continue Reading »
A new book illuminates the formal power, moral depth, and intellectual brilliance of important American poet Anthony Hecht. Continue Reading »
My friend the carpenter (no, not that one) Told me about a trick some workmen use.They leave some tools around if they’re not done—Nothing that they can’t afford to lose—As if they’ve gone for coffee or a snack,Or an emergency—a roof with leaks.They want to keep us thinking, “They’ll . . . . Continue Reading »
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