Jason Whitmarsh poem, from the archives

Jason Whitmarsh


EACH SWITCHBACK THE LESS SECURE


You claimed a weathered antique in your chest
of possessions and gave me reason to believe

I one day would sail in it,
or at least set rudder by its burnished reflection.

You felt a bit of the bends in the up and coming
and wished my lead belt were more lead, less belt.

Dappled in the underneath, we once (arrayed
in wetsuits) sank too slow—a haberdashery cut

at the first sign of trouble, the profits invested
in the wherewithals, smitten and sartorial.

You claimed a bit of what I carried.
You made your case through the mail.


[originally published in Verse, 16.3/17.1]

NEW! Poem by Michaël Vandebril

Michaël Vandebril

AMOUR FOU

ook
dit
gaat
voor
bij
en
ook
dat
zal
voor
bij

*

this
too
is
short
lived
and
that
too
shall
be
short


Translated by Brian Doyle

Pierre Joris, from VERSE

from the new issue of Verse (Volume 26, Numbers 1-3)

Pierre Joris

from meditations on the 40 stations of Mansur Al-Hallaj

29. Regrets for things lost (iftiqad)

but regret will not bring it back.
Nothing left to do but turn your

back on it. Tell yourself when you
know where something is

then it is not lost, even though
that something lie at the

bottom of the ocean. Nothing
ever is lost, & that may be

the only thing that is
real cause for regret.

Susan Stewart, from VERSE

from the new issue of Verse (Volume 26, Numbers 1-3)

Susan Stewart

A LITTLE ROOM

If you want to kiss in an elevator
you have to know when to start.
You can’t begin to bend any later
than the third floor. Your heart
is pounding (and buttons are lighting,
which means someone’s waiting,
though not for you). There’ll be springing,
whistling, and sudden abating,
two, then one, then two. Intent, intended,
push > < and pull me into your arms,
close and closer, suspended
(the lock switched off alarm),
above is looming, below’s the abyss,
and meanwhile the 3 is the charm.