#americanpoets

[librarycompany]

Happy 200th Birthday to the celebrated poet, essayist, and journalist (also Philadelphia area local), Walt Whitman!

Walt Whitman, 1819-1892 [graphic]. ca. 1870 1 photographic print : albumen on carte de visite mount ; 4 x 2.5 in. (10 x 6 cm.) [from the American Celebrities Album]

[ginzyblog]

Joanne Kyger & Gary Snyder,  party for Kerouac School, Naropa Summer Writing Program participants , Boulder Colorado,  July 6, 1990.

[Photo: Allen Ginsberg Courtesy Allen Ginsberg Estate / Stanford University Libraries]

#joannekyger #garysnyder #kerouacschool #summerwritingprogram #naropauniversity #allenginsberg #beatgeneration #boulder #bouldercolorado #writers #poets #instapoets #instawriters #poetry #americanphotographer #americanpoets (at Boulder, Colorado) https://www.instagram.com/p/BrBOuEBnFal/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=16vfpaj6d1ogl

[nobodia]

How to live

On the edge of my bathtub I watch a girl lick cum off of her face and smile.

I can cry while watching porn when it reminds me of sex with someone that I loved who now loves somewhere else. When the girl in the video kind of does something that she thinks is sexy but the guy laughs instead of thinking it’s sexy. When the sex is slow and it takes some time to figure out how to change positions without pulling out.

My heart pushes up this heart stuff. I can feel it when strangers that look like us are fucking. We exist in there.

This poem isn’t going to teach you anything. Look to porn to teach you about good living.

Gabby Gabby (Gabby Bess)

[housingworksbookstore]

Later this month, we're launching the new issue of the Academy of American Poets #AmericanPoets issue with readings by @aireadee, Jenny Xie, Nathan McClain

[librarycompany]

“The house in which a great poet has lived always interests us, but it can not hold so much of his life as the trees through which his thoughts have made Æolian melodies, or the roadsides along which his imaginations have blossomed into song.” --Lucy Larcom.

We’re celebrating #PublishersBindingThursday and #NationalPoetryMonth with our copy of Lucy Larcom’s Landscape in American Poetry (New York, circa 1879), which features overlapping landscape designs printed in black and gold, as well as bevelled edge boards.

Larcom, Lucy. Landscape in american poetry. New York : D. Appleton and Company. [c1879]

[librarycompany]

It’s a #PublishersBindingThursday double feature! Both of our copies of Willis’ Sacred Poems (New York, 1847) are bound in a green and black printed-pattern cloth. We can’t decide which is our favorite. Can you?

Browse the Library Company’s database of 19th-Century Cloth Bindings to see more bindings in our collection

Willis, Nathaniel Parker, 1806-1867. Sacred poems. / By N.P. Willis.. New-York: : Published by Clark & Austin., MDCCCXLVII. [1847] 126 p. :  12 cm

[charlesdwight]

LAWDY MISS CLAWDY * JOHN LARS ZWERENZ

[readmeapoem]

Louise Glück Nokturn Nëna vdiq mbrëmë, Nëna që s'vdes kurrë. Dimri shtillej n'ajri, dhe pse muaj larg por n'ajër gjithsesi. Dita e dhjetë e majit. Zymbyl dhe lulemollë lulonin në kopshtin e pasmë. Arrinim të dëgjonim Marien që këndonte këngë çekosllovake - Sa e vetmuar jam - këngë të këtilla. Sa e vetmuar jam, pa nënë, pa baba - mendja ime sa e zbrazët pa ta. Toka çlironte aroma; pjatat qenë në lavaman, të lara, por pirg aty. Nën hënën e plotë Maria paloste teshat; çarçafët e ashpër bëheshin katërkëndësha të thatë të bardhë të dritëhënës. Sa e vetmuar jam, por në muzikë dëshpërimi im më bëhet ngaz'llim. Ishte dhjetë maj, siç nëntë dhe tetë kishte qenë më parë. Mama flinte në shtratin e saj, krahët nderë, koka mes tyre në drejtpeshim. Nocturne BY LOUISE GLÜCK Mother died last night, Mother who never dies. Winter was in the air, many months away but in the air nevertheless. It was the tenth of May. Hyacinth and apple blossom bloomed in the back garden. We could hear Maria singing songs from Czechoslovakia — How alone I am — songs of that kind. How alone I am, no mother, no father — my brain seems so empty without them. Aromas drifted out of the earth; the dishes were in the sink, rinsed but not stacked. Under the full moon Maria was folding the washing; the stiff  sheets became dry white rectangles of  moonlight. How alone I am, but in music my desolation is my rejoicing. It was the tenth of May as it had been the ninth, the eighth. Mother slept in her bed, her arms outstretched, her head balanced between them. #louiseglück #americanauthors #americanpoets #nobelprize #americanpoetry https://www.instagram.com/p/CSU_0mVD_TP/?utm_medium=tumblr