@kimdorman.bsky.social
American poet residing in India / Corbel Stone Press
Reposted
I can feel that other day running underneath this one.
Anne Carson, The Glass Essay
Anne Carson, The Glass Essay
February 18, 2026 at 4:38 PM
I can feel that other day running underneath this one.
Anne Carson, The Glass Essay
Anne Carson, The Glass Essay
Prentiss Moore
February 18, 2026 at 4:41 PM
Prentiss Moore
February 18, 2026 at 2:22 PM
Karin Lessing,
from A Winter’s Dream Journal,
January 1984
from A Winter’s Dream Journal,
January 1984
February 18, 2026 at 1:29 PM
Karin Lessing,
from A Winter’s Dream Journal,
January 1984
from A Winter’s Dream Journal,
January 1984
www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazi...
Though I’ve always loved Louise Varése’s translation of Illuminations, Ashbery’s is perhaps better.
(for Karin Lessing)
Though I’ve always loved Louise Varése’s translation of Illuminations, Ashbery’s is perhaps better.
(for Karin Lessing)
February 18, 2026 at 1:09 PM
www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazi...
Though I’ve always loved Louise Varése’s translation of Illuminations, Ashbery’s is perhaps better.
(for Karin Lessing)
Though I’ve always loved Louise Varése’s translation of Illuminations, Ashbery’s is perhaps better.
(for Karin Lessing)
Dreaming of departure
Each man creates his doom:
Imagining the unknown known
He implores the unknowable
Pasture, imagines parting sure.
-Peter Yates
(from the forgotten poets archive)
Each man creates his doom:
Imagining the unknown known
He implores the unknowable
Pasture, imagines parting sure.
-Peter Yates
(from the forgotten poets archive)
February 18, 2026 at 10:37 AM
Dreaming of departure
Each man creates his doom:
Imagining the unknown known
He implores the unknowable
Pasture, imagines parting sure.
-Peter Yates
(from the forgotten poets archive)
Each man creates his doom:
Imagining the unknown known
He implores the unknowable
Pasture, imagines parting sure.
-Peter Yates
(from the forgotten poets archive)
What everywhere dominates unnoticed: alchemies
and their will o’ the wisps.
-René Char
(tr. Cid Corman)
and their will o’ the wisps.
-René Char
(tr. Cid Corman)
February 18, 2026 at 10:14 AM
What everywhere dominates unnoticed: alchemies
and their will o’ the wisps.
-René Char
(tr. Cid Corman)
and their will o’ the wisps.
-René Char
(tr. Cid Corman)
The sun burns slowly
through a weight of air;
fever, sleepless night,
world wavering in water.
Shivoham ends the hymn.
(dream fragment for Jay)
through a weight of air;
fever, sleepless night,
world wavering in water.
Shivoham ends the hymn.
(dream fragment for Jay)
February 18, 2026 at 8:09 AM
The sun burns slowly
through a weight of air;
fever, sleepless night,
world wavering in water.
Shivoham ends the hymn.
(dream fragment for Jay)
through a weight of air;
fever, sleepless night,
world wavering in water.
Shivoham ends the hymn.
(dream fragment for Jay)
I’ve long wondered what the forgotten poet Peyton Houston looked like — happily, I discovered this image online
February 18, 2026 at 7:03 AM
I’ve long wondered what the forgotten poet Peyton Houston looked like — happily, I discovered this image online
February 18, 2026 at 6:54 AM
February 18, 2026 at 6:12 AM
The instrument did not choose this ceremony.
My mother offered me five strings, nouns
without a grammar.
I left my mother’s emptiness, to embrace my own.
Whose darkness sits in the north,
if no one can sing my sorrow?
-Jay Wright
My mother offered me five strings, nouns
without a grammar.
I left my mother’s emptiness, to embrace my own.
Whose darkness sits in the north,
if no one can sing my sorrow?
-Jay Wright
February 18, 2026 at 6:08 AM
The instrument did not choose this ceremony.
My mother offered me five strings, nouns
without a grammar.
I left my mother’s emptiness, to embrace my own.
Whose darkness sits in the north,
if no one can sing my sorrow?
-Jay Wright
My mother offered me five strings, nouns
without a grammar.
I left my mother’s emptiness, to embrace my own.
Whose darkness sits in the north,
if no one can sing my sorrow?
-Jay Wright
Time as a constant seeping away is at once
indistinct and unbearable, a thin high sound
never swelling or breaking, continuous to the world’s end,
stretching our nerves like a bowstring.
Ebb without flow.
-Mary Barnard
indistinct and unbearable, a thin high sound
never swelling or breaking, continuous to the world’s end,
stretching our nerves like a bowstring.
Ebb without flow.
-Mary Barnard
February 18, 2026 at 5:59 AM
Time as a constant seeping away is at once
indistinct and unbearable, a thin high sound
never swelling or breaking, continuous to the world’s end,
stretching our nerves like a bowstring.
Ebb without flow.
-Mary Barnard
indistinct and unbearable, a thin high sound
never swelling or breaking, continuous to the world’s end,
stretching our nerves like a bowstring.
Ebb without flow.
-Mary Barnard
The sun is a drum
the moon is a cymbal
The flow of time is caught in a cup.
-Mary Barnard
the moon is a cymbal
The flow of time is caught in a cup.
-Mary Barnard
February 18, 2026 at 5:51 AM
The sun is a drum
the moon is a cymbal
The flow of time is caught in a cup.
-Mary Barnard
the moon is a cymbal
The flow of time is caught in a cup.
-Mary Barnard
Orion breaks clear, Rigel and Betelgeuse in place
The courtyard fragrant with rain
A lone silhouette bars the window without blinds
In the oval mirror, a single stroke.
-Karin Lessing,
from “Yunnan Sketches”
The courtyard fragrant with rain
A lone silhouette bars the window without blinds
In the oval mirror, a single stroke.
-Karin Lessing,
from “Yunnan Sketches”
February 17, 2026 at 1:47 AM
Orion breaks clear, Rigel and Betelgeuse in place
The courtyard fragrant with rain
A lone silhouette bars the window without blinds
In the oval mirror, a single stroke.
-Karin Lessing,
from “Yunnan Sketches”
The courtyard fragrant with rain
A lone silhouette bars the window without blinds
In the oval mirror, a single stroke.
-Karin Lessing,
from “Yunnan Sketches”
6.30 a.m. first light … cool dry air … coucals … call & response … my wife turns seventy-three today
February 17, 2026 at 1:22 AM
6.30 a.m. first light … cool dry air … coucals … call & response … my wife turns seventy-three today
Reposted
Waving from the corner
of the room,
this thought is a dragon,
that thought is a snake–
one has wisdom, one has venom.
The light that comes in
at the window
is a different animal.
16.II.25
of the room,
this thought is a dragon,
that thought is a snake–
one has wisdom, one has venom.
The light that comes in
at the window
is a different animal.
16.II.25
February 16, 2026 at 8:22 AM
Waving from the corner
of the room,
this thought is a dragon,
that thought is a snake–
one has wisdom, one has venom.
The light that comes in
at the window
is a different animal.
16.II.25
of the room,
this thought is a dragon,
that thought is a snake–
one has wisdom, one has venom.
The light that comes in
at the window
is a different animal.
16.II.25
Reposted
"The imagination is not a state: it is the human existence itself."
William Blake
William Blake
February 16, 2026 at 8:30 AM
"The imagination is not a state: it is the human existence itself."
William Blake
William Blake
Derek Walcott,
from Epitaph for the Young:
XII Cantos
(I remembered that Peter Matthiessen
& Derek Walcott were friends)
from Epitaph for the Young:
XII Cantos
(I remembered that Peter Matthiessen
& Derek Walcott were friends)
February 16, 2026 at 8:24 AM
Derek Walcott,
from Epitaph for the Young:
XII Cantos
(I remembered that Peter Matthiessen
& Derek Walcott were friends)
from Epitaph for the Young:
XII Cantos
(I remembered that Peter Matthiessen
& Derek Walcott were friends)
Swallows dart over black tiles
Earth-brown houses by the rushing stream
The water-buffalo takes his ease, drinks slow and deep
The hills alive with white worms
-Karin Lessing,
from “Yunnan Sketches”
Earth-brown houses by the rushing stream
The water-buffalo takes his ease, drinks slow and deep
The hills alive with white worms
-Karin Lessing,
from “Yunnan Sketches”
February 16, 2026 at 6:10 AM
Swallows dart over black tiles
Earth-brown houses by the rushing stream
The water-buffalo takes his ease, drinks slow and deep
The hills alive with white worms
-Karin Lessing,
from “Yunnan Sketches”
Earth-brown houses by the rushing stream
The water-buffalo takes his ease, drinks slow and deep
The hills alive with white worms
-Karin Lessing,
from “Yunnan Sketches”
… a boulder on which the initials of the Congress Party have been daubed with tar … a mound that was perhaps once a cenotaph … a marsh covered with lotuses and above them a cloud of butterflies … glints of broken shards of bottles set into the top of a wall …
-Octavio Paz,
The Monkey Grammarian
-Octavio Paz,
The Monkey Grammarian
February 16, 2026 at 6:04 AM
… a boulder on which the initials of the Congress Party have been daubed with tar … a mound that was perhaps once a cenotaph … a marsh covered with lotuses and above them a cloud of butterflies … glints of broken shards of bottles set into the top of a wall …
-Octavio Paz,
The Monkey Grammarian
-Octavio Paz,
The Monkey Grammarian
Reposted
Agnes Giberne's The Story of the Sun, Moon, and Stars (1898) transports us to the most remote astral bodies, but also quickens every reader’s lost seven-year-old sensibility that the universe was made to be brought within one’s humble yet unbounded reach: publicdomainreview.org/collection/s...
January 28, 2026 at 3:16 PM
Agnes Giberne's The Story of the Sun, Moon, and Stars (1898) transports us to the most remote astral bodies, but also quickens every reader’s lost seven-year-old sensibility that the universe was made to be brought within one’s humble yet unbounded reach: publicdomainreview.org/collection/s...
Reposted
I wrote about Basil Bunting’s modernist masterpiece, Briggflatts — published 60 years ago this month — and what I learned from the poet’s own comments on his poem
Pinks #40: How It Feels Rubbing Down a Gravestone
Personal insights into a poetic masterpiece
someflowerssoon.substack.com
February 15, 2026 at 9:20 AM
I wrote about Basil Bunting’s modernist masterpiece, Briggflatts — published 60 years ago this month — and what I learned from the poet’s own comments on his poem
9 a.m.
Jungle babblers squabble
in the half-dead garden
I see dozens of prints in the dirt
birds, people, a cat
Jungle babblers squabble
in the half-dead garden
I see dozens of prints in the dirt
birds, people, a cat
February 16, 2026 at 5:40 AM
9 a.m.
Jungle babblers squabble
in the half-dead garden
I see dozens of prints in the dirt
birds, people, a cat
Jungle babblers squabble
in the half-dead garden
I see dozens of prints in the dirt
birds, people, a cat
In summer I tend watermelons
And in flood I stay
Near the postman’s house
-Arvind Krishna Mehrotra,
from “Songs of the Ganga”
And in flood I stay
Near the postman’s house
-Arvind Krishna Mehrotra,
from “Songs of the Ganga”
February 16, 2026 at 2:16 AM
In summer I tend watermelons
And in flood I stay
Near the postman’s house
-Arvind Krishna Mehrotra,
from “Songs of the Ganga”
And in flood I stay
Near the postman’s house
-Arvind Krishna Mehrotra,
from “Songs of the Ganga”