I’m finally getting to the September issue of Poetry Magazine. There’s a great poetic excerpt by Derek Walcott, and among other good stuff Joseph Epstein writes a wry piece on the “office” of Poet Laureate titled “Thank You, No”.
At times, Epstein sounds like the ever-annoying Andy Rooney of Sixty Minutes, when, for example, he says “I keep falling back on the word ‘job,’ but does the laureate of the United States do any actual work?” The first paragraph of the article is its best where Epstein lists jobs he would rather have than poet laureate of the United States, among them a “veterinary cosmetic surgeon in Malibu.” Not required reading, but funny, and it’s available on-line if you’re not a regular reader of the mag (linked with the title above).
Lastly, the back cover of the issue has an enigmatic favorite, Pound’s laconic “In a Station of the Metro,” which I gather was first published in the very magazine in 1913. I put here without anyone’s permission, but who knows if I need it (I just hope it shows faithfully on everyone’s browser because I put html spaces in the lines).
In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd :
Petals on a wet, black bough.
Read widely, think well, and write often.
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