Tupelo Press is endeavoring to make possible an English translation of Canto General -- first translation by a woman, first translation by a fellow Chilean. Help make it possible at Kickstarter.
Her poem is featured in the Ted Kooser's column today.
In honor of Women's History Month, I am sharing a poem by Anne Bradstreet, America's first female poet.
To My Dear and Loving Husband
by Anne Bradstreet
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay;
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persever,
That when we live no more we may live ever.
I love love love the fact that broadsides are coming back in vogue within the poetry community. Check out this great example:
I attended the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets' spring conference for the first time. An organization begun in the 1950's by a very dedicated group of poets.
We honored a member with a lifetime membership (she'd been a member for 41 years!) -- Fran, a scrappy, floss-haired dame who kept shouting "Keep it moving" during Open Mic.
We heard from special guest B.J. Best (great name!) who seriously looked like a nerdy kid but in actual fact is a very talented poet AND a Professor of English at my alma mater (go figure).
His most recent book of poetry is But Our Princess is in Another Castle.
B J BEST
Check out his cool book trailer:
WISCONSIN'S POET LAUREATE
And the new Poet Laureate of Wisconsin debuted, Max Garland, a former mail carrier.
You can read more about him and experience some of his poems
All reaffirming to me that I need to get out there more... Poetry lives!
I have discovered a new poet who has written a book of "character" poems. They are weird and wonderful. Read for yourself:
A mirthy owl stands past breathing.
It is a plate-glass rescue
Of the ten thousand things.
Martha knew it once, came
To her own conclusions.
Then her spirit cried for respite
And release. There was no
Other season for the blatant cross-
Road of the yellow trees.
There was no other, Martha
Knew as she flew to the giant
Warmth in the desert of the real.
-- Noelle Kocot