Albert Goldbarth – The Song of the Practical
Increasingly, those water lilies of Claude Monet’s
became unbodied—were yolk, and mist, and cream
and primal amniotic murk, a swirly haze
of rapturous seeing: “a dream
of infinity,” one critic accurately said.
Ian Parks – Citizens
Free agents, this is how we made our way,
our used car swerving through the new estates.
It was late springtime and the fields of oil-seed rape
“Books -where if people suffered, they suffered in beautiful language, not in monosyllables, as we did in Kansas”
– Langston Hughes, from I Wonder as I Wander: An Autobiographical Journey, 1956