George Oppen

Here put your head, that desires nothing except familiarly: There your feet, bending your knees so that, bare (I remember from childhood), they would smell salt-sweet. --from 21 Poems

21 Poems

Emily Morgan

There's this bookshop café not far from my place that I frequented in 2018. A converted terrace house, with different genres in different rooms, swirling staircases, and a resident cat – Clëis. I used to go there whenever I felt lonely in the city. One day I stumbled across this book of poetry, but didn't have enough to buy it at the time. I took a picture of the cover; a zine-like pamphlet with a green-toned picture of a boat. I just remember thinking that I would love to be able to make something similar myself one day. It was only 20-pages, full of type-written notes and poetry and the odd film photo, but there's something about it that just felt so special. When I went back to the store about a month later, we crossed paths again, and I bought it. A completely random find, and yet it's become one of my favourite collections of poetry.


"The moon rose like a rising moon
And you beside me sitting silent, or as silently,

Turned, as one who turns, to say
How beautiful it is; as who should say, How beautiful
It is.

Your lips too red for lips,
Your nose not always like a nose;
I love you as I love
You
                 as I
Love."

21 Poems

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