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« On Eve Kosofsky Sedwick, "Queen of Queer Theory" [by Blake Smith] | Main | Memories of the BAP 1992 Launch (ed. Charles Simic) »

January 15, 2023


You can also read a great piece on Bronk written by Daniel here:

Touching poem- so organically captures the ebb and flow of grief ... and the unadulterated essence of a person that remains
" The ( good ) that men do, lives after them
The evil is oft interred with their bones"

perfect. Thank you Daniel. And Terence...

Rilke talks of turning our bitterness into wine, which what Daniel does.

Oh this is so moving. Thanks.

Daniel and Terence, thank you so much for this poem, to be treasured and shared. It's the tenth year anniversary this year of my dear son Liam's death in combat, and in recent years we have lost so many good friends, have we not? This poem brings them to us.
Again, gracias, brothers.

So impressive that a poem about grief can uplift the reader. Even not knowing the dead poet, the reader is drawn into his heritage and loss. Perfectly done. Thank you.

As always, your poems make me think and feel. MJ

What a remarkable poem, and the toughest kind to write, I think, a personal, true, autobiographical message to someone in particular, and Wolff does it with freshness, phrasing that's forceful and new, while his speaker also manages to stay on the rails. The poem's originality and mode remind me of a poem by the great Hoelderlin, which David Ferry masterfully translated and calls "She Speaks Across the Years," from his book Of No Country I Know, New and Selected Poems and Translations. I'm so glad Wolff wrote this--I'm so impressed by it, and glad too Terence that you picked it. Thanks!

The tidal pull of the language is beautiful and subtle, meanwhile the grief rages, cries out. Stunning.

Ditto to all the preceding. I can't help thinking one much smaller ad probably uttery trivial additional thought--re. the image of Bronk's "wave"--an old saying (?) I once heard: "No pun is too outrageous for a serious poet."


I'm saving this poem. It will come in handy.

"In this world, THIS WORLD, we have to have you, have to remember."

Poignant this line as it's THE plaintive cry of grief but Drift is also a reminder that whenever, however we think about the person we've lost, we bring them back into our life.

This poem definitely transcends William Bronk's death, which is why, I gather, there is no epigraph or "i.m.o." letting us know its specificity. The information in brackets is purely editorial and interesting but not essential. It is a poem of universal grief for the death of any loved one, and as such is perfect. I enjoyed the essay, as well, in The Literary Review.

Jack:  Thanks for the comment.

Thanks, Bill. Always good to get your response.

Thanks, Don. I always value your take on these poems.

A very moving poem. Love the artwork.

A tough-minded poem. Bronk would have applauded. Resolutely unconsoling: "We keep forgetting you." And at the same time, you honor the departed poet, truly. Bravo.

There is a tidal wave and ebb in these flowing lines, but why not drift to that other shore? Those who are there need not merely wait, but perhaps we can commune with them according to that lovely phrase of more than fifteen hundred years ago, the "communion of saints." To move that way is a gamble, but might it not seem worth taking?

Yes, This is what I have experienced too. You have captured something shared in these words.

Tender. Thank you, Daniel.

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I left it
on when I
left the house
for the pleasure
of coming back
ten hours later
to the greatness
of Teddy Wilson
"After You've Gone"
on the piano
in the corner
of the bedroom
as I enter
in the dark

from New and Selected Poems by David Lehman


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