Category: Collins, Billy

  • Boredom

    The other day, I decided to try my hand at composing a more modern piece of poetry, but the results were dismal: A Meta-Analysis of Free Verse in Free VerseorOde on Itself by Michael Hoke Imagine     how beautiful     this poem could have been     had you but written it Yourself I was struck today, however, when […]

  • Poeta Loquitur

    I haven’t had a chance to listen to much yet, and what I have listened to hasn’t really inspired me to listen to much more, but I figure some of you might be interested: I found a link over at Salon to several downloadable CDs worth of Dylan Thomas reading his and others’ poetry, with […]

  • Ave Atque Vale

    Ave Atque Vale by Billy Collins Even though I managed to swerve around the lump of groundhog lying on its back on the road, he traveled with me for miles, a quiet passenger who passed the time looking out the window enjoying this new view of the woods he once hobbled around in, sleeping all […]

  • Forget it

    Here are two poems on a related theme. If I have already put up the Bishop poem before, I apologize. First, Billy Collins: Forgetfulness by Billy Collins The name of the author is the first to go followed obediently by the title, the plot, the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel which suddenly becomes one you […]

  • Easter Egg Salad

    Marginalia by Billy Collins Sometimes the notes are ferocious, skirmishes against the author raging along the borders of every page in tiny black script. If I could just get my hands on you, Kierkegaard, or Conor Cruise O’Brien, they seem to say, I would bolt the door and beat some logic into your head. Other […]

  • For the Boys in March

    Pinup by Billy Collins The murkiness of the local garage is not so dense That you cannot make out the calendar of pinup Drawings on the wall above a bench of tools. Your ears are ringing with the sound of The mechanic hammering on your exhaust pipe, And as you look closer you notice that […]

  • Tuesday

    Monday Morning by Billy Collins The complacency of this student, late for the final, who chews her pen for an hour, who sits in her sunny chair, with a container of coffee and an orange, a cockatoo swinging freely in her green mind as if on some drug dissolved, mingling to give her a wholly […]