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Articles by Brett Fletcher Lauer
I’ve Had to Think Up a Way to Survive: On Trauma, Persistence, and Dolly Parton
Lynn Melnick. Univ. of Texas, $26.95 (264p) ISBN 978-1-4773-2267-3 Poet Melnick (Refusenik) delivers a riveting blend of cultural criticism and memoir in this paean to Dolly Parton, “an icon of feminine strength.” Melnick first heard Parton at age 14 in 1988 while she was checking into a drug rehabilitation program.
Feeling Fucked Up
Lord she’s gone done left me done packed / up and split and I with no way to make her come back and everywhere the world is bare bright bone white crystal sand glistens dope death dead dying and jiving drove her away made her take her laughter and her smiles and her softness and her midnight sighs— Fuck Coltrane and music and clouds drifting in the sky fuck the sea and trees and the sky and birds and alligators and all the animals that roam the earth fuck marx and mao fuck fidel and nkrumah...
Mother to Son by Langston Hughes
Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair. It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up, And places with no carpet on the floor— Bare. But all the time I’se been a-climbin’ on, And reachin’ landin’s, And turnin’ corners, And sometimes goin’ in the dark Where there ain’t been no light. So boy, don’t you turn back. Don’t you set down on the steps ’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens is one of America’s most respected 20th century poets. He was a master stylist, employing an extraordinary vocabulary and a rigorous precision in crafting his poems. But he was also a philosopher of aesthetics, vigorously exploring the notion of poetry as the supreme fusion of the creative imagination and objective reality. Because of the extreme technical and thematic complexity of his work, Stevens was sometimes considered a difficult poet.
Invictus
Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid.
Invictus by William Ernest Henley
Born in Gloucester, England, poet, editor, and critic William Ernest Henley was educated at Crypt Grammar School, where he studied with the poet T.E. Brown, and the University of St. Andrews. His father was a struggling bookseller who died when Henley was a teenager. At age 12 Henley was diagnosed with tubercular arthritis that necessitated the amputation of one of his legs just below the knee; the other foot was saved only through a radical surgery performed by Joseph Lister.
"An Accounting" | Ovation | columbiatribune.com
An AccountingIn this room, hours pass, a slightcorruption of each previousallotted time block — and probablyconfirm failure and humiliation,which though not ideal, I acceptas historically accurate. I’m sickof lifestyle music, the thing betweenawe and detachment which Hazlittdefines as adrift. I clear my throatremind myself, doors are locked,the ashtray half-full. Unless otherwisenoted, light falls from the television-accompanies night, any availableother-worldly knowledge.
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot
Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, To lead you to an overwhelming question ... Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit.
The strange poetry of searching for romance online
I’ve always been fascinated by the missed connections section on Craigslist. Nestled away amongst all the apartment listings and gently used IKEA couches are posts from would-be lovers, searching for the alluring strangers glimpsed in subways and diners. Reading the section is the ultimate voyeuristic act—a way to eavesdrop on the intimacy and romantic hopes of others. It was my love of missed connections that led me to start writing fake ones after my first marriage ended.
The Poetry Foundation
If I had known Two years ago how drear this life should be, And crowd upon itself allstrangely sad, Mayhap another song would burst from out my lips, Overflowing with the happiness of future hopes; Mayhap another throb than that of joy. Have stirred my soul into its inmost depths, If I had known.
The Poetry Foundation
in Just- spring when the world is mud- luscious the little lame balloonman whistles far and wee and eddieandbill come running from marbles and piracies and it's spring when the world is puddle-wonderful the queer old balloonman whistles far and wee and bettyandisbel come dancing from hop-scotch and jump-rope and it's spring and the goat-footed balloonMan whistles far and wee "Among the most innovative of twentieth-century poets," according to Jenny Penberthy in the Dictionary of Literary...
The Cremation of Sam McGee
There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows. Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
The Poetry Foundation
Thinking of Caroline Herschel (1750—1848) astronomer, sister of William; and others.
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