Poetry News & ResourcesWatch Poetry Webcasts from the 2008 National Book FestivalThe Library of Congress National Book Festival Web site provides access to webcasts of poets, authors, illustrators, and other speakers at the 2008 National Book Festival. Poetry webcasts for the 2008 festival include readings by U.S. poet laureate Kay Ryan, Eavan Boland, Dan Chiasson, Elsa Cross, Michael Lind, Molly Peacock, Stanley Plumly, and J. Allyn Rosser.
New "Poet and the Poem" Program features Poet Laureate Kay RyanAn audio interview with Kay Ryan is the latest addition to Grace Cavalieri's "Poet and the Poem," an ongoing series of live poetry interviews at the Library of Congress with distinguished artists. Other recent programs now available feature Terrance Hayes, Andrea Hollander Budy, and Sarah Maclay.
Kay Ryan: Online ResourcesThis guide compiles links to resources on newly appointed U.S. Poet Laureate Kay Ryan throughout the Library of Congress Web site and elsewhere on the Web.
Librarian of Congress Appoints Kay Ryan Poet LaureateLibrarian of Congress James H. Billington today announced the appointment of Kay Ryan as the Library’s 16th Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry for 2008-2009.
Joseph Brodsky: Online ResourcesThis guide compiles links to resources on former poet laureate Joseph Brodsky on the Library of Congress Web site and other English-language sites.
United States Poets Laureate: Frequently Asked QuestionsAnswers to some of the most frequently asked questions about the U.S. poet laureateship.
Poetry 180Poem 018 - "The Farewell"A poem by Edward Field from the Library's Poetry 180 project.
Poem 017 - "Bad Day"A poem by Kay Ryan from the Library's Poetry 180 project.
Poem 016 - "Radio"A poem by Laurel Blossom from the Library's Poetry 180 project.
Poem 015 - "The Poet"A poem by Tom Wayman from the Library's Poetry 180 project.
Poem 014 - "Neglect"A poem by R. T. Smith from the Library's Poetry 180 project.
Poem 013 - "Did I Miss Anything?"A poem by Tom Wayman from the Library's Poetry 180 project.
Fiction & PoetryYiyun Li: "Gold Boy, Emerald Girl"Yiyun Li Mon, 06 Oct 2008 04:00:00 -0000
He was raised by his mother alone, as she was by her father. She wondered if his mother, who had set up their date, had told him about that.
Siyu was thirty-eight, and the man, Hanfeng, was forty-four. Siyu’s father, after supporting her through college, had remarried, choosing . . .
Spencer Reece: "Eclogue"Spencer Reece Mon, 06 Oct 2008 04:00:00 -0000
In Juno Beach, on Pelican Lake,
Joseph Saul ate potato chips off a paper plate
and fed the broken bits to a duck.
He was accompanied by Laurie McGraw,
whom he met at the Alzheimer’s Support Group--
she had been a caregiver, he had a diagnosis,
and together their eyes . . .
Albert Goldbarth: "The Way"Albert Goldbarth Mon, 06 Oct 2008 04:00:00 -0000
The sky is random. Even calling it “sky”
is an attempt to make a meaning, say,
a shape, from the humanly visible part
of shapelessness in endlessness. It’s what
we do, in some ways it’s entirely what
we do--and so the devastating rose
of a galaxy’s being born, the . . .
Rosanna Warren: "Romanesque"Rosanna Warren Mon, 29 Sep 2008 04:00:00 -0000
Morning: smells of serious cooking float in the street.
Onions give up the ghost, flesh sizzles, a metal spoon
clinks on a dish. We’ve lived here for eight hundred years,
we’re still hungry. Ancient mosses nibble the stones.
We found such fierce ways to love.
A demon for each, carved . . .
Daniel Alarcón: "The Idiot President"Daniel Alarcón Mon, 29 Sep 2008 04:00:00 -0000
When I was first out of the Conservatory, I did a two-month stint with a theatre group called Diciembre. It was an established company that had formed during the anxious years of the war, when it was known for its brazen trips into the conflict zone, bringing theatre to . . .
Anne Carson: "Tag"Anne Carson Mon, 29 Sep 2008 04:00:00 -0000
THIS
Insatiable April, trees in place,
in their scraped-out place,
their standing.
Standing way.
Their red branch areas,
green shoot areas (shock),
river, that one.
I surprised a goose and she hissed.
I walk and walk with cold hands.
Back at the house it is filled with longing,
nothing . . .
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