And hate the bright stillness of the noon without wind, without motion. the only other living thing a hawk, hungry for prey, suspended in the blindin….

The new year always brings us what we want Simply by bringing us along—to see A calendar with every day uncrossed, A field of snow without a single f….

To speak from a particular place and time is not provincialism but part of a writer's identity..

Even if great poetry continues to be written, it has retreated from the center of literary life. Though supported by a loyal coterie, poetry has lost….