By Marilyn Hacker
A variety of poems that addresses the quotidian and the worldwide, from one in all our so much crucial poets.
Drawing on twenty years worthy of award-winning poetry, Marilyn Hacker's beneficiant decisions in A Stranger's replicate contain paintings from 4 earlier volumes besides 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 global 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 direction via sonnets and ghazals, via sapphics and syllabics, via each historic-organic trend, from renga to rubaiyat to Hayden Carruth's "paragraph." every one is additionally an implicit dialog with the poets who got here ahead of, or who're writing as we read.
A Stranger's replicate isn't intended just for poets. those poems belong to somebody 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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Additional resources for A Stranger's Mirror: New and Selected Poems 1994-2014
Whose young ones did we speak about, smoking and sipping purple wine (an Indian relatives toasting a few milestone close to us) within the eating place tucked at the back of Euston Station? ladies, poised for middle-aged liberty, nonetheless have our fledgling burdens to anchor us, want they have been hovering, self sufficient, happy after they flooring us with tea and gossip. ponder the friendships misplaced to geography, or misplaced to language, intercourse, or its absence . . . I ship, crossing arms, crossing water, vibrant techniques, vibrant Maryam: satisfied birthday. Letter to Alfred Corn Alfred, we either understand there’s little dactylic pentameter that may be noticed and quoted from vintage anthologies (although Hephaestion’s instruction manual on Meters cites “Atthis I enjoyed you as soon as in the past” for example, with no a lot on Sappho, yet nonetheless, may possibly a presence be even more felicitous? ) so this epistle is, very similar to sturdy friendship, unorthodox, framed either by means of Sappho and schoolmasters, and, overseeing the phrases of itinerants, Wystan? Jean-Arthur? Elizabeth? goalé and Léopold lights the Left financial institution with Négritude? August has close down the department stores and cafés on my industry highway; after they re-open, l. a. rentrée, clean commence, it is going to be with no me. I’ll be again in manhattan, feeling ten occasions extra alien than the place the polyglot boulevards intersect, linking up 11e and 20e, Maghreb, punk stylish, kashruth, chinoiserie. as soon as you'll say that ny used to be slightly the US, which—in Manhattan—was intended as an insider’s praise. Now it’s as flag-ridden because the Republican “heartland,” the place you behave greater than Ovid in exile, now not whimpering, making the easiest of a stint as a scholar-in-residence. for 2 sturdy weeks we have been friends, and residing our parallel lives, you at liberty, sampling the culmination of the capital— significantly, joys of the attention, its museums and boulevards, whereas i tried to pilot a relay of immigrant artisans (David and Mario, Portuguese masons and Nicolas, Serbian, plumber, and Sokli, Tunisian, painter, Jérôme, electrician, from Sénégal, none of whose papers I’d swear have been so as, not more than my very own are, all operating unsupervised for an unscrupulous contractor, sleazy, incompetent, immediately out of a few New Wave gangster movie, who extracts cash with threats from me, allows them to cross weeks unpaid) —if i used to be fortunate and a person confirmed up at the work-site the place defend used to be knocked all the way down to gougings in plaster, precarious partitions spouting bare bouquets of distressed electrical energy. That used to be where I’d lower back to with sure bet by surprise long past, while my lifestyles used to be made moot via ailment, whilst companionate ardour had became to disdain’s acrimonious grievances and that i was once left a late-quinquagenarian celibate —still, while I fixed the spiral stairs slant with 3 centuries’ steps (like the furrows defining the smile of a laureate) i used to be domestic secure within the cave that I’d made for the potential. (Who, although is secure, from the “shocking disease,” from the bulldozer wreaking revenge for the sins of the sons on their households, or from the dynamite-bookbag within the cafeteria, or from the tinderbox conceited lack of know-how lighting for us, turgid with strength, and prepared to supply up holocaust?