Love Speaks Its Name: Gay and Lesbian Love Poems

Love Speaks Its Name: Gay and Lesbian Love Poems

by J. D. McClatchy (Editor)
Love Speaks Its Name: Gay and Lesbian Love Poems

Love Speaks Its Name: Gay and Lesbian Love Poems

by J. D. McClatchy (Editor)

Hardcover

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Overview

From Sappho to Shakespeare to Cole Porter–a marvelous and wide-ranging collection of classic gay and lesbian love poetry.

The poets represented here include Walt Whitman, Hart Crane, Gertrude Stein, Federico García Lorca, Djuna Barnes, Constantine Cavafy, Elizabeth Bishop, W. H. Auden, and James Merrill. Their poems of love are among the most perceptive, the most passionate, the wittiest, and the most moving we have. From Michelangelo’s “Love Misinterpreted” to Noël Coward’s “Mad About the Boy,” from May Swenson’s “Symmetrical Companion” to Muriel Rukeyser’s “Looking at Each Other,” these poems take on both desire and its higher power: love in all its tender or taunting variety.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780375411700
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Publication date: 05/15/2001
Series: Everyman's Library Pocket Poets Series
Pages: 256
Sales rank: 250,794
Product dimensions: 4.40(w) x 6.47(h) x 0.70(d)

About the Author

J. D. McClatchy is the author of four books of poetry, two books of literary essays, and four opera libretti. He is editor of The Yale Review and a chancellor of the Academy of American Poets.

Read an Excerpt

"I Have Had Not One Word From Her "
by Sappho
(trans. by Mary Barnard)

I have not had one word from her

Frankly I wish I were dead.
When she left, she wept

a great deal; she said to me, "This parting must be endured, Sappho. I go unwillingly."

I said, "Go, and be happy but remember (you know well) whom you leave shackled by love

"If you forget me, think of our gifts to Aphrodite and all the loveliness that we shared

"all the violet tiaras,
braided rosebuds, dill and crocus twined around your young neck

"myrrh poured on your head and on soft mats girls with all that they most wished for beside them

"while no voices chanted choruses without ours,
no woodlot bloomed in spring without song . . ."

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