poem index

sign up to receive a new poem-a-day in your inbox

About this poet

Joshua Beckman was born in New Haven, Connecticut, and earned his BA from Hampshire College, where he studied poetry and the art of the book. He is the author of five books of poetry: Things Are Happening (1998); Something I Expected To Be Different (2001); Nice Hat. Thanks. (2002), written with Matthew Rohrer; Your Time Has Come (2004), and most recently, Shake (Wave Books, 2006).

He has numerous books of translation, including the forthcoming Five Meters of Poems by Carlos Oquendo de Amat, and Poker by Tomaž Šalamun (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2003) which was a finalist for the PEN Poetry in Translation Award. He is also an editor at Wave Books, a poetry press based in Seattle and New York.

They'll spend the summer

Joshua Beckman
They'll spend the summer
crushing the garden—
a steam let off slowly.

From Your Time Has Come by Joshua Beckman, published by Verse Press. Copyright © 2004 by Joshua Beckman. Reprinted by permission of Verse Press. All rights reserved.

From Your Time Has Come by Joshua Beckman, published by Verse Press. Copyright © 2004 by Joshua Beckman. Reprinted by permission of Verse Press. All rights reserved.

Joshua Beckman

Joshua Beckman was born in New Haven, Connecticut, and earned his BA

by this poet

poem
Melbourne, Perth, Darwin, Townsville,
Belém, Durban, Lima, Xai-Xai planes
with wingspans big as high schools
eight hundred nine hundred tons a piece
gone like pollen, cumulus cirrus
altostratus nimbostratus people getting skinny
just trying to lose weight and the sky
the biggest thing anyone ever thought of
poem

I’m not with my blue toes or my doggies
nor am I under any arched roof rotting blossoms
in my drain, sunlight pouncing upon me,
nor am I fixed like a tree, nor am I unfixed
like a wind. I ate an apple, that’s fine
and after Anthony left I got a whiskey.
I stared a bit like a shadow at

poem

The going. The letters. The staying.
The life of the little boy. The staying
and the life of the little boy. The
letter. The mushrooms. Dear Mom,
I’m writing to say how good it felt
when we took the mushrooms. Our skin.
The boy getting on the bus and the
street lamp. It’s getting

collected in

collection
“I trust your Garden was willing to die ...