Poetry Dovetails Contradictions.

Did You Love Well What Very Soon You Left? Come Home And Take Me In Your Arms And Take Away This Stomach Ache, Headache, Heartache. Never So Full, I Never Was Bereft So Utterly. The Winter Evenings Drift Dark To The Window. Not One Work Will Make You, Where You Are, Turn In Your Day, Or Wake From Your Night Toward Me. The Only Gift I Got To Keep Or Give Is What I've Cried, Floodgates Let Down To Mourning For The Dead Chances, For The End Of Being Young, For Everyone I Loved Who Really Died. I Drank Our One Year Out In Brine Instead Of Honey From The Seasons Of Your Tongue.

Translation Makes Me Look At How A Poem Is Put Together In A Different Way, Without The Personal Investment Of The Poem I'm Writing Myself, But Equally Closely Technically.

Perhaps First And Foremost Is The Challenge Of Taking What I Find As A Reader And Making It Into A Poem That, Primarily, Has To Be A Plausible Poem In English.

My Mother Was Told She Couldn't Go To Medical School Because She Was A Woman And A Jew. So She Became A Teacher In The New York City Public School System.

I Worked At All Kinds Of Jobs, Mostly Commercial Editing.