Friday Links
August 21, 2026
Autumn by Isaak Brodsky
Another man’s treasure by Steve Knepper
The Idea Of A Poetry Conservatory
Once Upon a Time on Mott Street
A Strange Meeting: Myron H. Broomell and Arthur William Ryder
Gauche by David J. Rothman
Another man’s treasure by Steve Knepper
This is a fantastic poem by Steve Knepper. Here are the first several lines. You can read the rest HERE.
She said she might come back tonight, or not,
then stared into her coffee cup and stirred
the creamer with a clinking butter knife.
Kurt paused mid-chew, but when he didn’t speak,
she sat up, caught his eyes, and forced a smile.
“We’re like that kitchen radio,” she said,
meaning the one they used to sing along
to washing up (he dried) but wouldn’t tune
in now, just spat out static, garbled song.
“It might be time to toss the damn thing out.”
“I’ll work on it someday,” he said.
“Babe, please . . .”
The Idea Of A Poetry Conservatory
This is the sort of thing that is worth doing, unlike many of the other things that we waste our time on. Elijah rightly mentions the UST MFA as the one option for the “poet who would like to receive a rigorous and comprehensive foundation in their art form and receive the invaluable benefits which come from mastering time-honed techniques,” though I think other MFA directors might be trying to imitate the UST program, which is great. And he’s right to mention the David Rothman and Susan Spear book Learning the Secrets of English Verse. Ultimately, Elijah is reminding us that excellence in the art and craft of poetry matters for our culture. (And, not for nothing, the pursuit of excellence in all things matters, for all of us. Elijah’s example of the musician is a good one for this essay, but we can also look at everyday life. When you cook a meal, don’t you try to make it as good as possible? Sure, you may never be a world-class chef with a Michelin star, but that doesn’t mean you throw slop on the table for your family. Do you bring your car to a bad mechanic? No, of course not. How about your kids’ teachers? Do you hope they are all idiots? Not being good at something you love does not mean you should give up, but it also doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to improve. Mediocrity is not actually a virtue.)
For those poets who do primarilywish to create works of enduring value, and who therefore wish to gain as many skills and as much knowledge of their craft as possible, there are precious few resources which can offer them what they need. I have argued in previous essays that poets serious about producing the most powerful work possible must learn how to harness all the resources of their language, which almost always requires learning how to use some form of meter, as well as other verbal and literary techniques. Nearly nowhere however are these necessary techniques required for a poet’s education, and even where they are, the instruction is far from comprehensive.
Once Upon a Time on Mott Street
From Jeffrey Bruno’s Substack:
Transfiguration is sometimes called the “Church of Immigrants.” Its languages and faces have changed, but people have always entered looking for belonging, carrying their devotions, traditions and saints.
A Strange Meeting: Myron H. Broomell and Arthur William Ryder
It’s always fun to read about one of Boris Dralyuk’s discoveries.
Last July I made a discovery—of a small sort, in my usual way. Poring over quaint and curious volumes of Southern Californian verse, I came upon the poems of Massachusetts-born, Colorado-educated, and, for some time, Los Angeles-based Myron H. Broomell (1906-1970). A classicist by training, Broomell worked as a teacher, a price analyst for a steel company, and a business manager for a newspaper, publishing poems in leading journals and producing four books along the way, but never quite gaining the readership or critical attention I have come to feel he deserved. I shared one of his poems from the September 1944 issue of Poetry on Twitter, adding: “His verse technique is crisp and striking, his diction modern, his tone philosophically aloof yet not lacking in feeling.”
Gauche by David J. Rothman
I’m only going to share the first two lines of this sonnet. Please read the rest over at The Sonneteer. Rothman captures that hitch in our lives that is grief. Listen to the recording - Rothman reciting and playing the piano:
What do you think? I’d ask and she’d say Well, The harmonies are nice, but that left hand…
