College professor and editor. Poems in The Paris Review, Poetry International, Crazyhorse, Ninth Letter, The Laurel Review, and many other journals in the US and Canada. Five books. Joyce Carol Oates: 'Scott Minar's work is a remarkable find.' more »
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Scott Minar Poems
The Sky's Letter
In the sky's envelope there is a letter for us. — Zbigniew Herbert, trans. Alissa Valles
Report from Hades
Last week, the electorate voted Minotaur Governor of the Malformed. Like his father he raised taxes and seeks now to outlaw labyrinths as too challenging. The weather is bleak,
Allons Mes Enfants
As a child my heart grew a block of ice. Then it melted and drained into the sea. I became a son of Poseidon just in time for my one good eye
Like a comedian in a labor camp, I work hard not to be noticed. The mathematician tells me not to play music in my sleep. His bunk
Parade Floats of Famous Literati
Dostoyevsky's giant liver is a red balloon tethered to five dogs, one for each Sunday in the month. His music is Fandango and
A Meeting on the Heights
Despite language difficulties it came to a meeting on the heights. — Zbigniew Herbert, trans. Alissa Valles
Revisiting Snow Man
Insidious knows some snow men. Some are gracious and malformed, leaves stuck in ice. Some are contingency plans against the spring—
Comments about Scott Minar
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
The Sky's Letter
In the sky's envelope there is a
letter for us.
— Zbigniew Herbert, trans. Alissa Valles
An envelope fell out of the sky.
Insidious picked it up
and ran for the forest. His greed
was epic, a zeppelin.
He didn't know how many
dropped from a sky like this,
at least a thousand a minute and people sprinting
underneath like gladding swans.
He tore at them with his fingernail,
said a prayer of attrition and emptied
the contents into his palm.
Who could have predicted?
It burned his hand, so many stars