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Ben Howard

Summer 1988

In Irishtown

By Ben Howard

He is taking her to task On the front porch, their quarrel Traveling the sidewalk. Embarrassed by his reddened Cheeks, his trembling jowls, His whining accusations, I make myself their […]

Summer 1988

No Parking

By Ben Howard

When I watched his daughter Turn from her father, Taking his tight smile With her as she went, I heard, among the slams Of car doors, something low And feral: […]

Winter 1987

The Pressed Melodeon

By Ben Howard

Ten years ago Seamus Heaney read his poems at a poetry festival in Cambridge, England. His audience was largely British, but it also included Robert Duncan, Robert Creeley, Fielding Dawson, […]

Winter 1986

Clearing

By Ben Howard

Where the road turned, we found a placeto rest. No one made demandsor called our names. We heard ourselvesspeaking and answering; we listenedtwice to every sound we heard. It was […]

Winter 1986

Near

By Ben Howard

They keep their distance on the sidewalk,those strangers no one sees againand no one calls. Their eyes awaken messengers in the spine. Their turns,quick steps—their momentary frowns—call up a stranger […]

Winter 1986

Remembering the Names

By Ben Howard

Davenport. Dubuque. Sabula.Their long syllables might be boxcarsrumbling at night along the river,their doors half-open, headed elsewhere. The elder names have lost their voices.In dreams, they drift through open windows,cheerless […]

Winter 1986

A Thing Forgotten

By Ben Howard

What we had known about has goneinto hiding—or maybe into a fieldbeyond us. We find its tracks in snow,its litter and scats. It never belongedto us, though we gave it […]

Winter 1985

Erotic, Ghostly Atmospheres

By Ben Howard

The Apple-Broadcast and Other Poems by Peter Redgrove. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1984. 133 pages. $9.50, paper. To the grim historicity of post-War British verse, Peter Redgrove brings a […]