Billy Collins

Foame Vulpea ce ți-ai aburcat-o peste umăr în sacul cenușiu a tăiat o gaură cu un cuțit și a scăpat. Dintr-o dată te simți mai ușor și

Uitarea Numele autorului este primul care pleaca urmat docil de titlu, de actiune, de cutremuratoarea concluzie, intregul roman care dintr-o

N-am pescuit niciodată pe Susquehanna sau pe oricare alt râu ca să fiu sincer la centimă. Nici în iulie ori în altă lună n-am avut plăcerea –

You know the parlor trick. wrap your arms around your own body and from the back it looks like someone is embracing you her hands grasping your

It could be the name of a prehistoric beast that roamed the Paleozoic earth, rising up on its hind legs to show off its large vocabulary, or some

I might as well begin by saying how much I like the title. It gets me right away because I’m in a workshop now so immediately the poem has my

Some days I put the people in their places at the table, bend their legs at the knees, if they come with that feature, and fix them into the tiny

Baudelaire considers you his brother, and Fielding calls out to you every few paragraphs as if to make sure you have not closed the book, and now

You are so beautiful and I am a fool to be in love with you is a theme that keeps coming up in songs and poems. There seems to be no room for

Sometimes the notes are ferocious, skirmishes against the author raging along the borders of every page in tiny black script. If I could just get

I ask them to take a poem and hold it up to the light like a color slide or press an ear against its hive. I say drop a mouse into a

I wonder how it all got started, this business about seeing your life flash before your eyes while you drown, as if panic, or the act of

They say you can jinx a poem if you talk about it before it is done. If you let it out too early, they warn, your poem will fly away, and this

The name of the author is the first to go followed obediently by the title, the plot, the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel which

there are many that I miss having sent my last one out a car window sparking along the road one night, years ago. the heralded one, of

The Wind is ghosting around the house tonight and as I lean against the door of sleep I begin to think about the first person to dream, how quiet

In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok you would never see him doing such a thing, tossing the dry snow over a mountain of his

First, her tippet made of tulle, easily lifted off her shoulders and laid on the back of a wooden chair. And her bonnet, the bow undone with a

The Wind is ghosting around the house tonight and as I lean against the door of sleep I begin to think about the first person to dream, how quiet