In Colorado, In Oregon, upon
each beloved fork, a birthday is celebrated.
I miss each and every one of my friends.
I believe in getting something for nothing.
...
The going. The letters. The staying.
The life of the little boy. The staying
and the life of the little boy. The
letter. The mushrooms. Dear Mom,
...
Unslide the door,
uncap the lazy little coffee cup.
The pasty people must be part of the dinner.
And a city turns its incapacity in,
...
They'll spend the summer
crushing the garden—
a steam let off slowly.
...
Melbourne, Perth, Darwin, Townsville,
Belém, Durban, Lima, Xai-Xai planes
with wingspans big as high schools
eight hundred nine hundred tons a piece
...
The dead girl by the beautiful Bartlett.
I'm sad. I make horrible sentences.
A woman alone in the park waves. The water.
...
Dark mornings shown thy mask
made well thy visage and voice
rolling over and hearing some perfect
sweetness that one broad soul poured forth
...
Dear Angry Mob,
Oak Wood Trail is closed to you. We
feel it unnecessary to defend our position,
for we have always thought of ourselves
...
It was as if her love had become
a big eye or some historical logic or
a religious particle lodged in the brain.
In the most costly services of a great society
...
Lying in bed I think about you,
your ugly empty airless apartment
and your eyes. It's noon, and tired
I look into the rest of the awake day
...
Ocean which I pushed up
with my fingers so I could touch
the orange sand below
...
I let my body down slow which is
what they say to do, like a whale
with its breathing and floating
in the ocean.
...
I'm not with my blue toes or my doggies
nor am I under any arched roof rotting blossoms
in my drain, sunlight pouncing upon me,
nor am I fixed like a tree, nor am I unfixed
...
Joshua Beckman is an American poet. He was born in New Haven, Connecticut. He graduated from Hampshire College. He is the author of six collections of poetry, including Take It, Shake, and Things Are Happening, which won the first annual Honickman-APR book award. He is also the author of two collaborations with New York–based poet Matthew Rohrer, including Nice Hat. Thanks. During his residency at Women's Studio Workshop, in 1997 he published There Is an Ocean, a combination of six prose poem/narratives about young men’s encounters with bodies of water, portraying the tension inherent in youth (especially among young gay men). He is an editor at Wave Books and has translated numerous works of poetry and prose, including Poker by Tomaž Šalamun, which was a finalist for the PEN America Poetry in Translation Award, as well as multiple co-translations with Alejandro de Acosta. He is also the recipient of numerous other awards, including a NYFA fellowship and a Pushcart Prize. He lives in Seattle and New York. A graduate of Hampshire College in Amherst, Massachusetts, Beckman was the editor of the short-lived literary magazine, Object Lesson, which served as inspiration for subsequent literary and artistic publishing ventures.)
[In Colorado, In Oregon, upon]
In Colorado, In Oregon, upon
each beloved fork, a birthday is celebrated.
I miss each and every one of my friends.
I believe in getting something for nothing.
Push the chair, and what I can tell you
with almost complete certainty
is that the chair won't mind.
And beyond hope,
I expect it is like this everywhere.
Music soothing people.
Change rolling under tables.
The immaculate cutoff so that we may continue.
A particular pair of trees waking up against the window.
This partnership of mind, and always now
in want of forgiveness. That forgiveness be
the domain of the individual,
like music or personal investment.
Great forward-thinking people brought us
the newspaper, and look what we have done.
It is time for forgiveness. Dear ones,
unmistakable quality will soon be upon us.
Don't wait for anything else.