By Umberto Saba
Translated By Patrick Worsnip
Man, your misfortune’s bottomless.
You’re too much and too little. You survey
with envy (though you think…
You’re too much and too little. You survey
with envy (though you think…
Explore Poems: Disappointment
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- By Kashawn TaylorI walk down a dim hall, and appreciate the coruscating layer of wax on the floor(how I could sleep there…
- By Zach CzaiaI'm sorry it wasn't till the end of the year
that I asked you to write about yourselves. You filled pages… - By Randall MannFirst I want to thank you all for coming,
for standing so patiently in line.
I know these are difficult… - By Lis SanchezAt the gangway, our demand was a straw pava.
We wore our demand jauntily cocked across our skull.
So what… - By Karl KnightsIt’s Boxing Day and I’m nearly ten and a half.
I got the camouflaged Action Man for Christmas.
I told … - By Anne CarsonIf I were an early person
I'd look for the limits of human wisdom
by going to sacred oak trees
or the local… - By Corey Van Landinghamwas, according to Virgil, always a fickle, unstable thing. Woman. Wyf. Merger of wife and man. To indicate: not-girl. Not-yet-claimed, not-yet weeping. And aren’t they often weeping? The mother, tearing her hair out, running toward the battle lines, filling heaven...
- By Li-Young LeeSad is the man who is asked for a story
and can’t come up with one.
His five-year-old son waits in his lap.
Not the same story, Baba. A new one.
The man rubs his chin, scratches his ear.
In a room full of books... - By K. IverYou’ve never seen a lilac in Mississippi.
Backstage you wear lotion laced with
its chemical imitation. A ballet mistress
says relevé always as command: lift
onto the toe using only the heel.
Your ankle’s bewilderment
old as the horned owl gaze from
your mother hunched in the... - By J. V. CunninghamPlato, despair!
We prove by norms
How numbers bear
Empiric forms,
How random wrong
Will average right
If time be long
And error slight,
But in our hearts
Hyperbole
Curves and departs
To infinity.
Error is boundless.
Nor hope nor doubt,
Though both be groundless,
Will average out. - By Jos Charlesits a secrete
the grls speeching mye hole /
inn 2 the lindens / wee go out
& playe footballe / verie nashenallie
how wee leeve a stall / piteus
wen the grls
speech me /
this is how u make a porno / ... - By Afrizal MalnaTranslated By Daniel OwenIt’s a shame this poem’s already been erased when
I go to read it. Like humid air that tugs
at my arm to catch what will fall, is
falling, and falls. What’s up with erasing? Glue,
scissors, and yarn make a shadow of barbed
wire.... - By James CagneyI come from the kidnapped,
the assaulted—
my country’tis of reparations as in-store credit
... - By Adrian MatejkaSpike Lee is so small I didn’t even
see him at first, surrounded
by Black Expo goers like a gumdrop
in a fist. When I asked him to sign
my “Free South Africa” t-shirt,
he said, You didn’t buy that at this
booth. Fresh off seeing Do... - By J. V. CunninghamThere is no stillness in this wood.
The quiet of this clearing
Is the denial of my hearing
The sounds I should.
There is no vision in this glade.
This tower of sun revealing
The timbered scaffoldage is stealing
Essence from shade.
Only my love is love’s ideal.... - By J. V. CunninghamYou are the problem I propose,
My dear, the text my musings glose:
I call you for convenience love.
By definition you’re a cause
Inferred by necessary laws—
You are so to the saints above.
But in this shadowy lower life
I sleep with a terrestrial wife
And... - By James K. BaxterThe wish to climb a ladder to the loft
Of God dies hard in us. The angels Jacob saw
Were not himself. Bramble is what grows best
Out of this man-scarred earth, and I don’t chop it back
Till the fruit have ripened. Yesterday I... - By Lorine NiedeckerNothing worth noting
except an Andromeda
with quadrangular shoots—
the boots
of the people
wet inside: they must swim
to church thru the floods
or be taxed—the blossoms
from the bosoms
of the leaves
*
Fog-thick morning—
I see only
where I now walk. I carry
my clarity
with me.
*
Hear
where her snow-grave is
the You
ah you
of... - By Lateef McLeodAs a child I knew I was
good,
adorable,
and safe.
Because that was what my parents told me,
that was what my grandma told me,
that was what my physical therapist told me,
that was what my teachers told me.
So I believed it.
I rolled around in...