Showing posts from December, 2014

...And Thanks!

To all you poets who generously contributed time and words, thank you. To all you readers, to everyone who took the time to comment on posts and in messages, thank you. To all of you who linked and re-posted, thank you. To the good people at Red Edge for allowing your images to grace some of these posts, thank you. To the many editors and publishers who granted permission to reproduce work, thank you. To those who are patiently waiting for the next questions in our conversations, thank you! Thank you all for making Concrete & River a place worth returning to. See you in 2015. Thanks for the picture, Terence Byrnes

A Few Favorite Things

Early winter, the light lengthening. The worst of hard weather is ahead, yet the sun is growing stronger and staying around longer. It's the time for year-end reviews: list-making, compiling bests and worsts, will-dos and won'ts, recounting things we'd return to or avoid. So, in no particular order, a few poets and poems I found memorable this year. 1. Louise Gl├╝ck’s Faithful and Virtuous Night . There's no other poet I know of who could make me believe a pun was a good idea for a book title. But then, it's so much more than a pun. That night is fully alive! That night is menacing and fearsome as often as it's comforting. Reliable, yes, faithful, sure. It comes around after every day. Virtuous? Don't know yet. Loyal? Night betrays. I've just started, very slowly, reading each page several times. It takes my breath away. I can't get enough. Sue Goyette 2. Sue Goyette's outskirts and Ocean. Poems about our times , and of our times, with a

Paul Vermeersch: A Poem

BALUSTRADE after “Utopia” by Lisa Robertson In spring, a century buckles, pressed into rusting bed frames, prosthetic legs, and confused, windswept architecture. The crows are an accidental beauty. In autumn, the world was no longer a phosphorescent empire, fragile and finite. How simple the future is. Everything already exists. The tree. The sky. The elegance of the balustrade in the hot, thin air. The little island of beaches ringed in purple fields. Beneath the structures, the summer weeds deepen. In dry leaves, the remains of a fallen figure — she was already ruined. --Paul Vermeersch from Don’t Let It End Like This Tell Them I Said Something by permission of the author Image by K Rayker   Paul Vermeersch  is the author of several poetry collections, including the Trillium-nominated  The Reinvention of the Human Hand  (M&S, 2010) and  Don't Let It End Like This Tell Them I Said Something  (ECW, 2014). He  l