My quest for poetry has led me to some interesting resources. One of them being a podcast from The New Yorker, where real, live poets read the works of other poets. Live!
Care for a listen? Click here.
It’s a nice thing to have on while cooking dinner, let me tell you. Sort of like having a couple of good friends over to chat about life and beauty and love, while you chop peppers and onions.
The other day Billy Collins was over, and he mentioned something William Matthews said. I was so blown away by it, I backed it up three times so I could hear it again.
Then I wrote it down, because I’m sure Billy was getting tired of repeating it:
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