Carolyn Forché

(28 April, 1950 - / Detroit, Michigan)

Carolyn Forché Poems

1. Travel Papers 5/20/2016
2. Ancapagari 5/20/2016
3. Kalaloch 5/20/2016
4. The Memory of Elena 5/20/2016
5. Reunion 5/20/2016
6. Selective Service 5/20/2016
7. Taking Off My Clothes 5/20/2016
8. Skin Canoes 5/20/2016
9. Sequestered Writing 3/21/2012
10. The Ghost of Heaven 11/25/2015
11. Elegy 1/13/2003
12. The Morning Baking 1/13/2003
13. The Visitor 1/13/2003
14. The Testimony Of Light 1/13/2003
15. Poem For Maya 1/13/2003
16. The Garden Shukkei-En 1/13/2003
17. The Colonel 1/13/2003

Comments about Carolyn Forché

  • Bob Mitchell (1/17/2014 2:35:00 PM)

    OMG! ! ! Talk about fun with Ferlinghetti, I just read The History of the Airplane. I really love that guy! RWM

    2 person liked.
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  • Bob Mitchell (1/17/2014 1:58:00 PM)

    Today, on a search for Maggie and Millie and Mollie and May by e.e.cummings I found these 500 poets with God knows how many poems? First stop, Omar Khayyam, never read The Rubaiyat before. Then, by random chance, I read all eight of the poems gathered here. They are on the dark side but bursting with meaning. Poem for Maya is my fave. Next I'm going for some Ferlinghetti and then who knows. I'm like a butterfly today... in search of a bit of sweetness and light. RWM

  • Sayeed Abubakar Sayeed Abubakar (5/10/2012 11:57:00 AM)

    Having gone through your poems, I have understood that you are a real poet. I am a poet of Bangla language. I have 7 books of poetry here which have been popular. I have also a literary magazine named Bangla Literature. Can we exchange our views on poetry and become friends?
    e-mail: sayeed_jh@yahoo.com

  • Andrew Fincham (10/25/2006 5:14:00 AM)

    There is a fierce love which builds and binds these poems, such as comes from the heart of a natural poet sharing truths they have seen.

    This is what poetry is for.

Best Poem of Carolyn Forché

The Colonel

What you have heard is true. I was in his house.
His wife carried a tray of coffee and sugar. His
daughter filed her nails, his son went out for the
night. There were daily papers, pet dogs, a pistol
on the cushion beside him. The moon swung bare on
its black cord over the house. On the television
was a cop show. It was in English. Broken bottles
were embedded in the walls around the house to
scoop the kneecaps from a man's legs or cut his
hands to lace. On the windows there were gratings
like those in liquor stores. We had dinner, rack of
lamb, good...

Read the full of The Colonel

The Morning Baking

Grandma, come back, I forgot
How much lard for these rolls

Think you can put yourself in the ground
Like plain potatoes and grow in Ohio?
I am damn sick of getting fat like you

Think you can lie through your Slovak?
Tell filthy stories about the blood sausage?

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