Paul Klee once said, “He has found his style, when he cannot do otherwise.” There are poets whose language takes on this kind of inevitability, something Rilke called the “unconcealedness of being,” which shimmers on, star-like and unbidden, shouldering the pain of loss.
David Lehman’s new book, Poems in the Manner Of … is a waltz through the history of poetry and a self-portrait in the fun house mirrors of style. “In the manner of” here means sound-alikes, inspired-bys, collages, fresh translations, and other deep visits with a poet, or a poetic age.
I keep coming back to the night we found out about the twins. Michael and I had been married for ten years at the time. Clare would have just been turning five. Michael had been called in before, but never for anything like this. Our community hadn’t faced this kind of tragedy since that boy had gone missing in ’87, but then, he was never found, and anyway, that was before Michael started diving.
I remember running into a tenement building, / up to the second floor, then looking out a hall window / where my friends were doing the duck walk
When the shadows look to you like sheets / of tin and the light like sodium flame, / you’ll know even God is an alchemist.
Announcing the Winners and Finalists of the 2017 Neil Shepard Prize in Fiction, Nonfiction, and Poetry
Green Mountains Review is pleased to announce the winners and finalists of the 2017 Neil Shepard Prize in Fiction, Nonfiction, and Poetry! The winners will receive $500 and their work will be featured in our next print issue, 30.1, released in February 2018. The finalists will be published in GMR Online. Congratulations to our winners and finalists!
Louis Offer, formerly Ortega, crossed the border near the rattlesnake hills outside of Rio Grande City. Within a year he’d set himself up as a customizer in a body shop on Spaulding Avenue, his specialty the crafting of hearses from platforms that normally did not ship out as hearses, Jeep Grand Cherokees for example.
In me a man busted to pieces sinks / —like shrapnel—clear-through to bone. / I pull out one piece at a time—
Sounds like a species of coral, / a flute carved from animal bone.