New York

Continuing his support of New York's rich literary tradition, Governor Cuomo appointed Marie Howe as the state poet laureate on August 29, 2012. Throughout her two-year two year term, the poet laureate promotes and encourages poetry writing throughout New York by giving public readings and talks within the state.

upcoming events

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Apr 15 2015
Poetry & the Creative Mind

The Academy of American Poets presents Poetry & the Creative Mind at Lincoln Center's Alice Tully Hall in New York City on April 15, 2015. A gala celebration of poetry’s important place in our culture and its impact on the lives of readers, the eventfeatures leading and legendary actors, dancers, artists, musicians, and public figures on one stage sharing their favorite poems. 

6am
1941 Broadway
10023 New York, New York

recent & featured listings

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Festival New York Poetry Festival New York
Reading Series Brooklyn Book Festival New York
Reading Series Cornelia Street Café New York
Reading Series Nuyorican Poets Cafe New York
Reading Series NYC–Urbana New York
Reading Series Meet the Writers New York
Reading Series Spring Poetry Festival at City College of New York New York
Reading Series 92nd Street Y New York
Colony Millay Colony for the Arts New York
Colony Yaddo Colony New York
Poetry in New York
Marie Howe
New York poet laureate

Marie Howe

Marie Howe was born in 1950 in Rochester, New York. She worked as a newspaper reporter and teacher before receiving her MFA from Columbia University...

poems

poem

In memory of Father Flye, 1884-1985

The strange and wonderful are too much with us.
The protea of the antipodes--a great,
globed, blazing honeybee of a bloom--
for sale in the supermarket! We are in
our decadence, we are not entitled.
What have we done to deserve
all the produce of the tropics--
poem
Now that our hero has come back to us
in his white pants and we know his nose
trembling like a flag under fire,
we see the calm cold river is supporting
our forces, the beautiful history.

To be more revolutionary than a nun
is our desire, to be secular and intimate
as, when sighting a redcoat, you smile
and
poem
In that lit window in Bushwick
halfway through the hardest winter
I cut plexiglass on a table saw,
coaxing the chalked taped pane
into the absence of the blade,
working to such fine tolerance
the kerf abolished the soft-lead line.
I felt your eyes play over me
but did not turn—dead people
were not allowed in