The Almanac of Night
Faint drip from the downspout: click-click-click like a wheel being cranked. The house is dark,...
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Karen Kovacik
Karen Kovacik is the author of several collections of poetry, including Metropolis Burning, Beyond the Velvet Curtain and Nixon and I. Her work as a poet and translator has received numerous honors, including the Charity Randall Citation from the International Poetry Forum, a fellowship in literary translation from the National Endowment for the Arts and a Fulbright Research Grant to Poland for her translations of contemporary Polish poetry. In 2013, her booklength translation of Agnieszka Kuciak’s Distant Lands: An Anthology of Poets Who Don’t Exist appeared from White Pine Press, and in 2014, her anthology of Polish women poets, Calling Out to Yeti, is also forthcoming from White Pine. She served as Indiana’s Poet Laureate from 2012-2014.
Karen Kovacik is the author of several collections of poetry, including Metropolis Burning, Beyond the Velvet Curtain and Nixon and I. Her work as a poet and translator has received numerous honors, including the Charity Randall Citation from the International Poetry Forum, a fellowship in literary translation from the National Endowment for the Arts and a Fulbright Research Grant to Poland for her translations of contemporary Polish poetry. In 2013, her booklength translation of Agnieszka Kuciak’s Distant Lands: An Anthology of Poets Who Don’t Exist appeared from White Pine Press, and in 2014, her anthology of Polish women poets, Calling Out to Yeti, is also forthcoming from White Pine. She served as Indiana’s Poet Laureate from 2012-2014.
Posts by Karen Kovacik
Clothes Drying on the Balcony
The black jacket shrugs on its hanger, free of my hunched shoulders. Black panties, pinned in a...
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My Mother Contemplates What to Wear in Her Casket
Your father says to put him in a plain black suit. But me, I want to be in that dress I wore to...
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Ancestry.com
After death, like Houdini, you disappeared, leaving the steamer trunk bare. So many times you’d...
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To My Last Period
For 30 years you muscled onto my calendar in red ink. And always the week before your arrival I...
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