When I asked Robert Wynne to join me as co-editor of a new poetry anthology, his immediate response was When do we start? Only
No past tense permitted —Kay Boyle, “A Poem for Samuel Beckett” Darlings, this may be the only great escape we’ll ever make: go forward
… you are back to where you are, utterly. —Max Frisch A basement bar is closing up— people climbing the steps into streetlight pink.
Paul Robeson stood on the northern border of the USA and sang into Canada where a vast audience sat on folding chairs waiting to