The Huddle: Our Favorite Poets

April is National Poetry Month, and since there is never enough celebration of poetry in the world, this week’s Huddle is dedicated to our favorite poets. Poetry is so personal that it was inevitable we’d all have different picks, and yours will likely differ, too. I, Chloe, am a Yeats girl. What about you?

I love hearing writers talk about sex, or trying. It’s a great aesthetic problem, joy.

An Interview With Eileen Myles, and a Poem From Her New Book

Can it be growing colder when I begin to touch myself again, adhesion pull away?when slowly the naked face turns from staring backwardand looks into the present,the eye of winter, city, anger, poverty, and deathand the lips part and say: I mean to go on living?Am I speaking coldly when I tell you in a dreamOr in this poem, There are no miracles?(I told you from the first I wanted daily life,this island of Manhattan was island enough for me.)If I could let you know —two women together is a worknothing in civilization has made simple,two people together is a workheroic in its ordinariness,the slow-picked, halting traverse of a pitchwhere the fiercest attention becomes routine— look at the faces of those who have chosen it.

R.I.P. Adrienne Rich.