POEGLES » Charles Simic

Curiosities

admin — Sun, 10 May 2009 18:33:03 +0000

Poetry in Brooklyn

Why poetry will never leave us

Happy birthday, Chuck Simic

Baboon social networks

Curiosities

admin — Sun, 12 Apr 2009 23:53:33 +0000

Finding poetry where ye may

Poetry of Physics, Physics of Poetry (thanks Ron Silliman)

Some massive galaxies like Milky Way relatively new

“I am the last”….

“Odes to Obama: A poem or 2 for the new president”

admin — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 13:59:23 +0000

The Associated Press, gearing up for the inauguration and Elizabeth Alexander’s performance as Poet-in-Chief, solicited a few other major American poets to write a lick or two for the incoming president. More here.

“Charles Simic, another former poet laureate, said ‘it’s impossible to say yes or no. … I can’t write to order. … When do you need it by?’”

“His good intentions didn’t bear fruit.”

Oh, Charlie.

Master of Disguises

admin2 — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 02:48:12 +0000

When the editors of Poegles were much younger men, their interest in poetry was first piqued by the incomparable work of Charles Simic. Of course, any resemblance now between the themes and sensibilities of the Poegles collection and those of Mr. Simic’s work, however impoverished the former might appear by comparison, is purely coincidence.

Mr. Simic has a terrific new poem in this week’s New Yorker, and I have no doubt that our esteemed colleagues there would not mind us reprinting the verse here:

Master of Disguises

Surely he walks among us unrecognized:
Some barber, store clerk, delivery man,
Pharmacist, hairdresser, bodybuilder,
Exotic dancer, gem cutter, dog walker,
The blind beggar singing, Oh Lord, remember me,

Some window decorator starting a fake fire
In a fake fireplace while mother and father watch
From the couch with their frozen smiles
As the street empties and the time comes
For the undertaker and the last waiter to head home.

O homeless old man, standing in a doorway
With your face half hidden,
I wouldn’t even rule out the black cat crossing the street,
The bare light bulb swinging on a wire
In a subway tunnel as the train comes to a stop.