Categories: NER Community, Poetry, Readings
Vermont’s Poet Laureate, Sydney Lea, will be teaching a poetry class for 8-12 students at the Renegade Writers’ Collective on Sunday, November 24. This class is for committed writers and will take place in the RWC classroom in the Karma Bird House at 47 Maple Street in Burlington. The class is from 4-6 pm and will be followed by a reading of his work, Q&A, and book signing, which will take place in the first floor gallery in the same building. The reading will take place from 6-7pm, and is free and open to the public. You do not have to take the class to come to the reading. Click here for a full course description and to reserve your spot in the class.
Sydney Lea is a founding editor of New England Review, and his work has appeared in the magazine in recent years.
from the current issue (34.2):
Once I told someone
he should call his poem that
but I don’t know how
it turned out.
You could say Good
magazine or There’s a celebrity
on the fire escape
and enough people
would still want to hear
the part about fire. I have
but we don’t know it yet.
When we do we will meet up
at the balloon show
with a box of pins.
From the current issue (34.2):
Since you got to behead
with your round
I hope you get to spin inside your
laying your eggs in leaves at night.
From the current issue (34.2):
You who arrive to look for Rome in Rome
And can in Rome no Rome you know discover:
These palaces and arches ivied over
And ancient walls are Rome, now Rome’s a name.
Here see Rome’s overbearing overcome—
Rome, who brought the world beneath her power
And held sway, robbed of sway: see and consider
Rome the prey of all-consuming time.
And yet this Rome is Rome’s one monument.
Rome alone could conquer Rome. And the one element
Of constancy in Rome is the ongoing
From James Hoch’s poem, “Closure,” in the current issue:
In the oldest stories, a snake eats its tail,
a savage peeks his head out of a socket
of ruin, a boat returns with no crew,
and death makes us back into ether.
There seems no room for other versions.
A couple in the middle of rush hour
step out of their car and leap off a bridge,
only to hit a catwalk a few feet below.
From Tarfia Faizullah’s poem, “The streetlamp above me darkens,” in the current issue:
The Sun, Street Light and Parallax (Wikimedia)
for this, I am grateful. This elegy
doesn’t want a handful of puffed rice
tossed with mustard oil and chopped chilies,
but wants to understand why a firefly
flickers off then on, wants another throatful
or three of whiskey. This elegy is trying
hard to understand how we all become
corpses, but I’m trying to understand
permanence, because this elegy wants
to be a streetlamp dying as suddenly as a child
who, in death, remains a child….
From Theodore Worozbyt’s “The Red Dress,” a poem in the current issue:
At the Sound, the rocks were gray.
The rocks were gray against the water.
Rose quartz filled the yards, at dusk.
The needles rose and fell in the firs.
The noises from inside stayed quiet,
Music and steam. A brindle pit bull
Gave up barking, far away.
A hammer lay beneath the bed.
From Traci Brimhall’s “The Unverifiable Resurrection of Adão da Barco,” a poem in the current issue:
First, a tourist finds a poem in the leper colony,
carved in a kapok, ants swarming sap in the cuts.
Then a fisherman uncovers instructions for a rain dance,
an usher discovers recipes for the jubilee.
A riverboat captain comes to town and leads them
to a tree in the north describing the mating habits
of the marabunta, to one in the south with an ode to plums.
[read the poem
From Jake Adam York’s “Self-Portrait as Superman (Alternate Take),” in the current issue:
At twenty-four frames per second, sixty seconds is two hundred
feet of film you’ll never see: Christopher Reeve
ready to become mild-mannered Clark Kent—sharp
trilby and blue chalk-pinstripe suit—
once they call Action, the Who-me smile fading
to bit-lip circumspection, cover story and secret,
hand on the button-down’s placket, ready to pull
the buttons from their eyes, peel
the rough-hewn cotton from the ancient crest, the S