The way an oyster does A Fragment by Kay Ryan www.csmonitor.com Her poems, [Kay Ryan] says, don't begin with a simple image or sound, but instead start "the way an oyster does, with an aggravation." An old saw may nudge her repeatedly, such as "It's always darkest before the dawn" or "Why did the chicken cross the road?" "I think, 'What about those chickens?' " she says, "and I start an investigation of what that means. Poets rehabilitate clichés." poetrymeaningcliché
Crown A Poem by Kay Ryan www.poetryfoundation.org Too much rain loosens trees. In the hills giant oaks fall upon their knees. You can touch parts you have no right to— places only birds should fly to. naturetreesmelancholytouch
Every Thing An Essay from Every So Often a Talking Dog Appears by Smiljan Radić A crumpled drawingThe tower
A crumpled drawing A child is walking with a crumpled drawing in his hand. Someone asks him if the crumped drawing has a "name"... "Every thing," he replies. nameschildhood
The tower The tower is just a common grater. It is not used to look out toward a distant world from above, but only to slice, grind and grate its surroundings. Anyone who stepped inside would see an irremediably cold, metallic, empty void, and a few scattered holes where the world literally seeps through in pieces. It is a sad project. After the Fair architecturemelancholydarkness