Father and Son No sound—a spell—on out where the wind went, our kite sent back its thrill along the string that sagged and sang and said, “I’m here! I’m here”—till […]

The Seamus Heaney translations  of two poems by Giovanni Pascoli (1855 – 1912) published in the New Yorker after the death of Heaney (1938 – 2013) last August sent me scrambling […]

Washerwomen Out in a field half-fallow and half furrowed, A plough is standing, no oxen-team in sight, Forgotten looking, half-hid in a mist-cloud. From the mill-pond comes the wet slapping […]