Gizaagi’in apii zaagi’idizoyan
I love you when you love yourself
gaye gaawiin zaagi’idizosiiyan
and when you do not
apii zaagijiba’iweyang
when we escape together
gaye zaagijinizhikawangwaa
and when we chase together
wiindigoog wiindamoonangwaa
the demons who tell us
gaawiin zaagiginzinog ozaagiing
nothing sprouts at the inlet
aanawi gikendamang jiigi-zaaga’igan
when we know at the edge of the lake
gii-zaagida’aawangweyang ingoding
where ashes were poured
zaagaakominagaanzh zaagaagoneg
the bearberry stands in the snow
zaagidikwanaaging ezhi-nisidotamang
branches reaching and tracing
zaagijiwebinamang gaye ishkonamang
what we have tossed and what we have saved
ezhi-naagadawaabandamang
as we examine
gizaagi’in, gizaagi miidash ozaagi’aan.
love.
Copyright © 2020 by Margaret Noodin. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on November 2, 2020, by the Academy of American Poets.
But where do the breasts go first is my question.
I understand their fantasies of fleeing south.
The winters are loud and long and white
and by March, well. I wonder why I’m still
in it too. Now the round pits thumb up
beneath the skin, tender and hot to the touch,
crushed by my new weight. This island I’ve
had to make of myself brought a bevy,
angered by easy pleasures: sugar, soy sauce,
potatoes, ice cream. My love’s language
is to make a meal, ask what I can take in,
ask what maladies to avoid. As for my house:
touch is far and few between. Desire wanes
between compresses of cloves cinnamon turmeric
and honey. But in the mornings, a gulf between us,
my hands are kissed. The blinds drawn to keep
the sun from disturbing my sleep while we wait
patiently for my body’s quiet prayer of thanks.
Copyright © 2020 by Aricka Foreman. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on November 20, 2020, by the Academy of American Poets.
translated by Pierre Joris
So many constellations, dis-
played to us. I was,
when I looked at you—when?—
outside with
the other worlds.
O, these paths, galactic,
O this hour that billowed
the nights over to us into
the burden of our names. It is,
I know, not true,
that we lived, a mere
breath blindly moved between
there and not-there and sometimes,
comet-like an eye whizzed
toward extinguished matter, in the canyons,
there where it burned out, stood
tit-gorgeous time, along
which grew up and down
& away what
is or was or will be—,
I know,
I know and you know, we knew,
we didn’t know, for we
were there and not there,
and sometimes, when
only Nothingness stood between us, we
found truly together.
Soviel Gestirne
Soviel Gestirne, die
man uns hinhält. Ich war,
als ich dich ansah – wann? –,
draußen bei
den andern Welten.
O diese Wege, galaktisch,
o diese Stunde, die uns
die Nächte herüberwog in
die Last unsrer Namen. Es ist,
ich weiß es, nicht wahr,
daß wir lebten, es ging
blind nur ein Atem zwischen
Dort und Nicht-da und Zuweilen,
kometenhaft schwirrte ein Aug
auf Erloschenes zu, in den Schluchten,
da, wo’s verglühte, stand
zitzenprächtig die Zeit,
an der schon empor- und hinab-
und hinwegwuchs, was
ist oder war oder sein wird –,
ich weiß,
ich weiß und du weißt, wir wußten,
wir wußten nicht, wir
waren ja da und nicht dort,
und zuweilen, wenn
nur das Nichts zwischen uns stand, fanden
wir ganz zueinander.
From Memory Rose into Threshold Speech: The Collected Earlier Poetry (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2020) by Paul Celan, translated by Pierre Joris. Published in Poem-a-Day on November 22, 2020, with the permission of the translator.
I like being with you all night with closed eyes.
What luck—here you are
coming
along the stars!
I did a road trip
all over my mind and heart
and
there you were
kneeling by the roadside
with your little toolkit
fixing something.
Give me a world, you have taken the world I was.
Copyright © 2020 by Anne Carson. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 10, 2020, by the Academy of American Poets.
Like, the last thing I said to you was let’s buy a duplex,
like, you live on your side & I’ll live on my side &
you’ll rise when you rise & I’ll rise when I rise &
I said something like, let’s divide these hurts & regrets
& you get a stack & I get a stack & you walk a block
& I walk a block & you get a poodle & I get a pug
& you stub a toe & I twist an ankle & you get
a wheelbarrow & I get chickens glazed with rain
& you interrupt & I intercept & you call
the Congressman & I call the Mayor & you blow
a trumpet & I smash a tuba or maybe seal off all sound
sheltering the shuddering of the heart compressed
the high-pitched operas of trolley wheels breaking
at the edge of midnight where magnolias
shelter the stoplights & left-footed lovers, drunk
on beignets & champagne-kisses & maybe struck
by the distant drift of a giant
sea turtle floating toward a green wave
in a tacky, overpriced painting
& somehow they’re safe, the couple is safe
& there’s no parade stilts that will break, no stars
that will bend, there’s just an orchid
tucked behind an ear & hours blurred together
& I said something
like—
& you said—
& I said—
Remember?
Copyright © 2020 by Yona Harvey. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 7, 2020, by the Academy of American Poets.
What is this nameless something that I want,
Forever groping blindly, without light,—
A ghost of pain that does forever haunt
My days, and make my heart eternal night?
I think it is your face I so long for,
Your eyes that read my soul at one warm glance;
Your lips that I may touch with mine no more
Have left me in their stead a thrusting lance
Of fire that burns my lips and sears my heart
As all the dreary wanton years wear through
Their hopeless dragging days. No lover’s art
Can lift full, heavy sorrow from my view
Or still my restless longing, purge my hate,
Because I learned I loved you, dear, too late.
This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on November 28, 2020, by the Academy of American Poets.