The Latest

My poem "Rib" is featured on the Best American Poetry website here.

Two poems "To Pogamasing" and "Flat Tire in Vermilion Bay" recently appeared in Existere magazine. Check them out.

"Montreal Poem or Our Hearts Are Not Like Wheels or Les Habitants" has been accepted for publication by Contemporary Verse 2 - watch for it in spring 2012.

Also, don't forget to take a gander at my new website!

New website has launched!

www.leneagrace.com

Oh My Poets...

I'll be home soon.

Behind Every Great Frog There's A Great Man

Has it really been twenty years, Jim Henson? Indulge in some Muppet Wiki and pay your respects to the man behind the frog or watch this little gem. Note Cookie's look of utter disgust at the 1:33 mark.

Al Purdy

I don't know any good living poets. But there's this tough son of a bitch in Canada that walks the line.

-- Charles Bukowski

The Cariboo Horses

AL PURDY (1918-2000)

At 100 Mile House the cowboys ride in rolling

stagey cigarettes with one hand reining

half-tame bronco rebels on a morning grey as stone

-so much like riding dangerous women

with whiskey coloured eyes-

such a women as once fell dead with their lovers

with fire in their heads and slippery froth on thighs

-Beaver or Carrier women maybe or

Blackfoot squaws far past the edge of this valley

on the other side of those two toy mountain ranges

from the sunfierce plains beyond

But only horses

waiting in stables

hitched at taverns

standing at dawn

pastured outside the town with

jeeps and fords and chevvys and

busy muttering stake trucks rushing

importantly over roads of man's devising

over the safe known roads of the ranchers

families and merchants of the town

On the high prairie

are only horse and rider

wind in dry grass

clopping in silence under the toy mountains

dropping sometimes and

lost in the dry grass

golden oranges of dung

Only horses

no stopwatch memories or palace ancestors

not Kiangs hauling undressed stone in the Nile Valley

and having stubborn Egyptian tantrums or

Onagers racing thru Hither Asia and

the last Quagga screaming in African highlands

lost relatives of these

whose hooves were thunder

the ghosts of horses battering thru the wind

whose names were the wind's common usage

whose life was the sun's

arriving here at chilly noon

in the gasoline smell of the

dust and waiting 15 minutes

at the grocer's

Live From New York...

We got in!

Blogging for Teen Writers Bloc

I recently guest-posted on Teen Writers Bloc, an inspiring blog set up by New School MFA students enrolled in the Writing for Children program. I'm talking 'bout children's poetry, folks. Shel Silverstein, Jack Prelutsky, Roald Dahl...and Robert W. Service. Read here.

Gathering No Moss

Jennifer L. Knox

A few weeks ago, poet Jennifer L. Knox read at The New School and promptly blew many, many other prestigious readers out of the proverbial literary waters. Her body of work's strength is apparent on the page, but to listen to her read is a treat. She can deliver. Knox voice cuts through the bullshit with distinct humor that melds the mundane with the surreal. Her latest book, The Mystery of the Hidden Driveway, is available from Bloof Books, a fantastic small press.

Oh, and did I mention that she has a poem called Beverly Hills Cop III? Yeah. Read it here at La Petite Zine.

Jennifer L. Knox in conversation with David Lehman at The New School, April 2011.

Poem in Toronto Quarterly

Pleased to say that I have a poem, "John Island", featured within the latest issue of The Toronto Quarterly (TTQ7). To purchase/read, click here.

George!

Beth Hoeckel

Artist Beth Hoeckel makes some incredibly gorgeous collages, as you can see below. Her work evokes nostalgia and weird science compacted into prints that look like they're out of a warped National Geographic. I'm mesmerized.