Five Rilke Translations
Before the Summer Rain
All at once, from all the green in the park,
some something, you can’t say what, is missing;
you feel it coming close to the windows
and staying still. From the forest, there’s only. . .
All I Really Need to Know I Learned . . . by Driving in Italy
First off, this is not a primer about the various gestures and “hand signals” Italians use to wordlessly communicate to other drivers here in Milan. Although, trust me, I have had plenty of those aimed in my general direction. Avoiding accidents is good policy no matter where you are, but as a driver new to the country, I’d prefer not have to use my limited Italian language skills to describe any incidents to the polizia. Also, one tries to avoid being part of the flashing-light street-side spectacles that the Italians are famously fond of—they last for hours, and require a stack of paperwork decipherable only by old-money Italian lawyers.
Ten Very Short Stories, vol. 2
He Asked
“If you could go back in time, what’s the one thing
you would change about your life?”
She told him.
Nine Spring Haiku
A lonesome twister
lifts blossoms into the air
then ceases to be
A surprise meeting
so much to say—a single
word will have to do
The Once and Final Frontier
Brentano’s Bookstore. Westlake Center. Seattle. Mid-Nineties.
I was up front, stocking the poetry section, momentarily resisting the urge to crack open some Robinson Jeffers or Theodore Roethke and read a few lines. A man came through the doors, making a beeline for me, announcing: “I need a book about space.”
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