Essay
By William Boyle
A magisterial new biography of Frank Stanford chronicles a poet obsessed with death and prone to betrayal.
Essay
By Austin Araujo
It’s as though the bridge does the work of re-enchanting Fayetteville for me.
Poem
By Austin Araujo
It happened that last June,
jogging down a street
in Indianapolis, my shirt
tight against my chest,
breath not turning over
quick enough for my lungs,
I passed a table set just
outside a bar, full of men
in their fifties. One of them,
blue trucker hat on, shirt
black...
jogging down a street
in Indianapolis, my shirt
tight against my chest,
breath not turning over
quick enough for my lungs,
I passed a table set just
outside a bar, full of men
in their fifties. One of them,
blue trucker hat on, shirt
black...
Poem
By Frank Stanford
There are many people who come back
After the doctor has smoothed the sheet
Around their body
And left the room to make his call.
They die but they live.
They are called the dead who lived through their deaths,
And among my people
They are considered...
After the doctor has smoothed the sheet
Around their body
And left the room to make his call.
They die but they live.
They are called the dead who lived through their deaths,
And among my people
They are considered...
Profile
By Ben Ehrenreich
In which our reporter falls for Frank Stanford's poetry, heads for the lost roads of Arkansas, and searches for the man behind the myth.
Poem of the day
Glory be to God for dappled things –
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim...
FROM THE CURRENT ISSUE OF
Poetry Magazine
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That’s what poetry is: a wind, a leaf of grass that ties time and space
together.
I’m almost always lying
In a
In a
poem
I’m almost always lying
In a
In a
poem
Poem
By CAConrad
Poem
By Cameron Awkward-Rich
Poem
By bruno darío
Translated By Kit Schluter
After tonight, what’s left of you is you moving into my
dream
After tonight, what’s left of you is you moving into my
dream
Poem
By Sarah Ghazal Ali
Poem
By Martha Silano
Poem
By Paul Tran
Once I learned I could have the last word
I couldn’t stop having
I couldn’t stop having
it.
Once I learned I could have the last word
I couldn’t stop having
I couldn’t stop having
it.
Poem
By Bhion Achimba
Poem
By Maxine Hong Kingston
Translated By Chun Yu
Poem
By Shara McCallum
The Poetry Foundation recognizes the power of words to transform lives. We work to amplify poetry and celebrate poets by fostering spaces for all to create, experience, and share poetry.
Featured Poets
Fanny Howe
1940—2025Fanny Howe
Fanny Howe was the author of more than 20 books of poetry and prose. Howe grew up in Cambridge, Massachusetts.... Read More
Poem
By Fanny Howe
Prose from Poetry Magazine
By Fanny Howe
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