A Stranger's Mirror: New and Selected Poems 1994-2014

By Marilyn Hacker

A variety of poems that addresses the quotidian and the worldwide, from considered one of our such a lot crucial poets.

Drawing on 20 years worthy of award-winning poetry, Marilyn Hacker's beneficiant choices in A Stranger's reflect comprise paintings from 4 past volumes in addition to twenty-five new poems, ranging in locale from a solitary bed room to a refugee camp.

In a multiplicity of voices, Hacker engages with translations of French and Francophone poets. Her poems belong to an city international of cafés, bookshops, bridges, site visitors, demonstrations, conversations, and solitudes. From there, Hacker reaches out to different websites and personas: a refugee camp at the Turkish/Syrian border; contrapuntal monologues of a Palestinian and an Israeli poet; intimate and foreign exchanges abbreviated on Skype—perhaps with gunfire within the background.

These poems path via sonnets and ghazals, via sapphics and syllabics, via each historic-organic trend, from renga to rubaiyat to Hayden Carruth's "paragraph." every one can be an implicit dialog with the poets who got here prior to, or who're writing as we read.

A Stranger's reflect isn't really intended just for poets. those poems belong to an individual who has sought in language an expression and extension of his or her engagement with the world—far off or up shut because the morning's first cup of tea.

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Lock Bush and Cheney up with Milosevic, then permit the trial of Saddam Hussein start. My courageous friend’s long gone; our leaders are blindered bastards: therefore may possibly an evening’s interpreting of Montaigne commence. As I poured that cup of wine, i assumed of her and felt the needlings of this damned migraine commence. at the record I’m writing down of my addictions, I’ll allow the oldest one, to oxygen, commence. There the place the fox was once too hungry, baffled, drained, the tracks that led the hunters to his den commence. probably it is going to take place in the event you shut your eyes and count—but very slowly—backwards from ten. commence. Sháhid, if my identify have been Witness, i'd signal it. I depart whilst the drained jokes approximately “Marilyn” start. A Braid of Garlic getting older ladies mourn whereas they visit industry, purchase fish, figs, tomatoes, sufficient this day to feed the wolf asleep beneath the desk who wakes from what dream? What yet loss comes around with the altering season? he's lifeless whom, bold, I known as a brother with that leftover existence perched on his shoulder cawing departure. He made one final roll of the cube. He met his final, most sensible interlocutor days earlier than he lay down for the surgical procedure that might/might no longer expand the gamble. What they stated belongs to them. Now a son writes elegies, even though he has a residing father. One loves sage tea, one gave the realm the odor of his mother’s espresso. gentle has gotten smaller again to what it used to be in April, incrementally will turn away to iciness. I can’t name my peregrinations “exile,” yet count number the mornings. In a basket hung from the wall, its deal with festooned with fabric vegetation from chocolate packing containers, mottled crimson shallots, and looped beside it, a braid of garlic. I have in mind, ten days after a birthday (counterpoint and candlelight within the wine-glass) how the girl radiologist’s palms probed, now not caressing. So, reprise (what wasn’t known as a “recurrence”) of a fifteen-years-ago ceremony of passage: I arrived, weighted down with extra luggage, scarred, at the threshold. during the gentle wintry weather solar in February, or thrice weekly to Gobelins, the geriatric clinic the place my buddy was once getting her nerve again. on the finish of chic proofs and lyric, incoherent livid trolls in diapers. Fragile and ephemeral as all attractiveness: the human spirit— whereas the previous journalist watched, took notes and surprised, regaled her viewers with dispatches from the battle sector within which she used to be embedded, biding her time there. Now in our personal leftover lives, we toast our stories and continence. i've got scars the place breasts have been, her gnarled palms, nowadays, can hardly ever carry the pen regular. millions mourn him, whereas within the hush and hum of life-support for a number of organ failure, utter solitude, poise of scarlet wings that flutter, and vanish. In reminiscence of Mahmoud Darwish and Mavis Gallant ACKNOWLEDGMENTS wintry weather Numbers obtained the Lenore Marshall Award of the Academy of yank Poets and a Lambda Literary Award, either in 1995. Squares and Courtyards got the Audre Lorde Award of the Publishing Triangle in 2001.

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