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The New Yorker

Poems

“Saint Hyacinth Basilica”

“When devotion is self-betrayal, / the body knows.”

“One Vessel”

“I’ve had the time of my life, friends, / living quietly like a snail in a pocket.”

“What Am I Afraid Of?”

“The silence, the thoughts / that come with it.”

“The Eulogy I Didn’t Give (XXIV)”

“My younger brother was afraid of thunder, / lightning.”

“To Sew a Freedom Suit”

“Note / Its dimensions on brown paper. Otherwise / In the green field of your imagining.”

“Izzy Kasoff”

“Who was he, why was he the one assigned / To drive me from the house to the cemetery?”

“Temple of Poseidon, Sounion”

“Now I’m an adult, restraining the impulse / to elegize what is still alive.”

“Black Dictionary”

“I turned myself into myself and was Jesus.”

“Nothing New”

A recently discovered poem, written in 1918 and published for the first time in The New Yorker’s Anniversary Issue.

“Barbershop”

“In the barbershop it’s hard to tell an argument / from a discussion.”