Recently added articles from The Hudson Review:
In Memoriam: Hayden Carruth (1921-2008)
Jan 01, 2009; ... Come let us sing against death. - Hayden Carruth, "Contra Mortem" Poetry is an art of margins. Poets rarely think so. They prefer believing they are somehow at the center of things, but they rarely are. This is not to say poets are unimportant, only that they gain their ...
Rivers, Bells, Nostalgia
Jan 01, 2009; ... I The didactic poetry of the end of the eighteenth century often put the ideas of doctors and philosophers into verse. It wanted on the one hand to spread admiration for the conquests of science, to invent the De rerum natura of the new learning, while on the other hand it was not slow ...
From The Great Snowfall
Jan 01, 2009; ... First snowfall, early this morning . . . First snowfall, early this morning. Ochre, green Huddle under the trees. The second, towards noon. Nodhng Is left of color But needles from the pines Falling sometimes thicker than snow. Then, ...
The Mirror
Jan 01, 2009; ... Yesterday still The clouds sailed across The dark end of the room, But now the mirror's empty. Snow Disentangles from the sky. [Author Affiliation] YVES ...
The Plough
Jan 01, 2009; ... Five o'clock. More snow. I hear some voices At the edge of the world. A plough Like a three-quarter moon Shines, but then is covered By the darkness of a fold of snow. And from now on that child Has the house all to himself. He ...
Spot of Water
Jan 01, 2009; ... To the snowflake Poised on my hand, I would Grant eternity, Understanding my life, my warmth, My past, these current days, As simply a moment, this one, limidess. And yet it melts: already Only a spot of water, strayed Into the mist ...
Our Lady of Mercy
Jan 01, 2009; ... Everything, now, Gathers in warmth Under your light mande, Barely more than mist and knotted lace, Lady of Mercy of the snow. Against your body Creatures and things, Naked, lie fast asleep, and your fingers With their clarity veil ...
The Garden
Jan 01, 2009; ... It's snowing. Beneath the snowflakes the gate Opens at last on the garden Of more than the world. I enter. But my scarf Catches on rusty iron, And it tears apart in me The fabric of the ...
The Apples
Jan 01, 2009; ... And what should one think Of these yellow apples? Yesterday, They surprised us, waiting that way, naked After the fall of leaves. Today they charm, So modestly their shoulders Are traced By a scallop of ...
Just before dawn . . .
Jan 01, 2009; ... Just before dawn, I look out past the windowpane, and understand That it's stopped snowing. A small blue pool Spreads out, shining a bit, in front of the trees, From one wall to the other of night's enclosure. I step outside. Cautiously, I descend ...
The Torches
Jan 01, 2009; ... Snow, Which has ceased to give, which is no longer The one who comes, but rather waits In silence, having brought what none Has yet taken up, and still, all night long, We glimpsed, through misted windows, Even sometimes streaming, Your ...
Hopkins Forest
Jan 01, 2009; ... I went outside To draw some water from the well, beside the trees, And I was in the presence of another sky. Gone the constellations of a moment before, Three quarters of the firmament were empty, The deepest blackness alone held sway there, Except ...
Song, Rain, Snow: Translating the Poetry of Yves Bonnefoy
Jan 01, 2009; ... Writing within a decade of each other, but surely without mutual acquaintance, Walter Benjamin and A. E. Housman express remarkably similar, polemical ideas about translation. Both argue that we would be mistaken, as indeed we would, to suppose that a poem merely transmits information so that ...
So Boaz Slept
Jan 01, 2009; ... Boaz lay down in weariness and pain; He'd spent long hours laboring on his land And smoothed his blanket with a dusty hand To sleep among his heaps of garnered grain. More fields of wheat stood ready to be mowed; Though wealthy, he was not an unjust ...
From Le Cid
Jan 01, 2009; ... Pierre Corneille's Le Cid (1636) was responsive to a public enthusiasm for nobility in love and honor, and for aristocratic glory in general. The play, which ?s in itself glorious for vigor and invention, locates its heroic action in the romantic world of medieval Spain, at a time of transition ...
The Immortal1
Jan 01, 2009; ... Chapter I -My father was born in 1600 . . . -Pardon, but you mean 1800 of course . . . -No sir, replied Dr. Leäo, in a solemn and cheerless tone, he was born in 1600. His audience - Colonel Bertioga and the town notary public João Linhares - was dumbfounded. The ...
To V.V. Bibikhin
Jan 01, 2009; ... He who loves the word, knows it, he who loves sound, hears it: as a ray of light winds and clamors in diamond, a sudden flourish of the Irides. And in the bright cloud of resounding, he will find himself fully recompensed by that vain dream of ...
A Few Lines About My Life
Jan 01, 2009; ... I was born in Moscow on December 26, 1949. My first five years have always seemed to me the best period of my life; the other period that I like to remember was between the ages of fifteen and seventeen, the prime of my youdi. Beyond diose two happy moments, which had no direct relation to ...
Third Rome Man
Jan 01, 2009; ... I like the wintertime feeling of "Big" and warm, Done up in mittens and boots, long Johns and pants, In a short coat of fur even though it's not really real, Shaggy earflaps tied tight to keep out the cold and the wind The wind's fierce - how handy my eyes are ...
Three Stories from That Didn't Reassure the Children
Jan 01, 2009; ... Alois Hotschnig was born in 1959 in Carinthia, Austria's southernmost province. It is a region in which history has a tendency to resurface, if not quite as farce, certainly with sinister and clownish echoes. Carinthia was the home base of the far-right xenophobic Freedom Party, whose recently ...