Today's poem is "Turnstile"
from Causeway

New Issues Poetry & Prose

Elaine Sexton is the author of Sleuth (New Issues, 2003). Her poems, reviews, essays, and art criticism have appeared in American Poetry Review, ARTnews, Art New England, Prairie Schooner, Poetry, River Styx, New Letters, the Writer’s Chronicle (AWP), and numerous other journals. She teaches a poetry workshop at the Writing Institute at Sarah Lawrence College, works in magazine publishing, and lives in New York City.

Other poems by Elaine Sexton in Verse Daily:
May 26, 2003:  "The Flag of My Disposition" "The free end of the flag snags in a beak..."
May 8, 2003:  "Encryption" "This is an elegy for the stuffed sea turtle..."

Books by Elaine Sexton: Causeway, Sleuth

Other poems on the web by Elaine Sexton:
"First Person"
Five poems

About Causeway:

"In their plainspoken engagement with the actual world, Elaine Sexton's poems are models of scrupulous attention, alert to the simple truth that everything is 'part of some bigger mystery' so even a fish can sing a 'psalm,' a simple shoe be the subject of one. The poems in this impressive second collection contain the sound of a consciousness meditating on what is passing in the world and abiding in the heart and mind. Elegy without sentimentality seems a natural part of Sexton's keen-eared lyric manner and, in every sense, responsibility. Lodged in various locales, whether urban or rural, earthbound or on the open sea, answering a landscape, a family memory, or the vagaries of love, the poems of Causeway are always informed by an honest buoyancy of spirit that can mix 'the scent of lilacs' with 'smokers' coughs,' as imagination testifies to the hard-won realization that 'Even in these / toxic times, we live, we thrive.'"
—Eamon Grennan

'Happiness in love, what a joke,' Paul Eluard wrote to Gala in a letter dated 6 March, 1933, and three-quarters of a century later Elaine Sexton, in her second superb volume, struggles against such cynicism in poems that address 'every estuary' of love—filial love, romantic love, spiritual love—without refusing 'to taste the grit.' Again and again the poet attempts to reconcile herself to 'the everyday obscene,' always 'searching for home / in a thrift shop find, something a mother, / not yours, or mine, left behind.' Causeway celebrates the probability of such human connection in poems taut and insistent and resonant with desire. When Sexton writes, speaking for us all, '[T]he ones; who love me love me, god knows why,' we know she's not quite joking."
—Michael Waters

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