Fanny Howe

(1940 / Buffalo, New York)

Fanny Howe Poems

1. Yellow Goblins 9/8/2015
2. One Night in Balthazar 10/29/2015
3. Victory 2/3/2016
4. You Can't Warm Your Hands in Front of a Book but You Can Warm Your Hopes There 2/18/2016
5. Everything's a Fake 4/7/2016
6. The Advance of the Father 9/24/2016
7. The Cenotaph 9/24/2016
8. The Descent 9/24/2016
9. Everything 9/24/2016
10. Footsteps 9/24/2016
11. A Hymn 9/24/2016
12. Oxford 9/24/2016
13. A Poem for Ciaran 9/24/2016
14. Sheets 9/24/2016
15. The Source 9/24/2016
16. What Did You See? 9/24/2016
17. Loneliness 10/19/2016
18. Now I Get It 10/19/2016
19. Third Word from the East 10/19/2016
20. Far and Away [excerpt] 10/19/2016
21. Unday 10/19/2016
22. Three Persons 9/24/2016

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Best Poem of Fanny Howe

Three Persons

The fields are infertile
as far as I can tell.
Their winter systems
sparkle like the diamonds
that pelt Neptune.

Limpid silvers
reflect in the dark
museums and theaters
back in town.

To them we run
to elevate our eyes
to a well-shaped ethics.
Colors are supplied
by our nervous minds.

Towards a just
and invisible image
behind each substance
and its place in a sentence
you must have been walking.

Well-defended, best
when lost from wanting.

Be like grass, she told me,
lie flat, spring ...

Read the full of Three Persons

Everything's a Fake

Coyote scruff in canyons off Mulholland Drive. Fragrance of sage and rosemary, now it's spring. At night the mockingbirds ring their warnings of cats coming across the neighborhoods. Like castanets in the palms of a dancer, the palm trees clack. The HOLLYWOOD sign has a white skin of fog across it where erotic canyons hump, moisten, slide, dry up,

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