Vermont

In November 2015, Governor Peter Shumlin appointed Chard deNiord as Vermont poet laureate. DeNiord is the author of six poetry collections, most recently Interstate (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2015), and teaches at Providence College. He will serve a four-year term.

upcoming events

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May 03 2016
After the Haiku of Yosa Buson With David Budbill

David Budbill has written poems "after" someone else's poems for decades. This is the first time, however, he's written an entire book of poems "after" another poet, another book.

He began writing these poems after a friend gave him his extra copy of Collected Haiku of Yosa Buson, translated by W. S. Merwin & Takako Lento (Copper Canyon Press, 2013). In fact his friend gave him this book on his birthday weekend (his 74th) and he's been obsessed with making his own poems from these translations ever since. (He don't read a word of Japanese.) He hasn't been this obsessed by a book, and by making his own poems from that book, since he read Red Pine's new translation of The Collected Songs of Cold Mountain (Copper Canyon Press, 2000).  

7:00pm
77 Main St.
05602 Montpelier, Vermont

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Poetry in Vermont
Chard deNiord
Vermont poet laureate

Chard deNiord

Chard deNiord was born on December 17, 1952, in New Haven, Connecticut, and raised in Lynchburg, Virginia, where he attended Lynchburg College. The...

poems

poem
little moth
I do not think you'll escape
this night

I do not think
you'll escape this night
little moth

               *

bees in clover
summer half over
friends without lovers

               *

I bite a carrot
horsefly bites me

               *

I thought it was you
moving through the trees

but it was the
poem
Not for all the whiskey in heaven
Not for all the flies in Vermont
Not for all the tears in the basement
Not for a million trips to Mars

Not if you paid me in diamonds
Not if you paid me in pearls
Not if you gave me your pinky ring
Not if you gave me your curls

Not for all the fire in hell
Not for all the blue
poem
The moon was like a full cup tonight,
too heavy, and sank in the mist
soon after dark, leaving for light

faint stars and the silver leaves
of milkweed beside the road,
gleaming before my car.

Yet I like driving at night
in summer and in Vermont:
the brown road through the mist

of mountain-dark, among farms
so
2