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When I'm not a journalist, I'm a poet, and today some bad news came: Craig Arnold, winner of the Yale Younger Series of Poets prize and author of several collections, has gone missing on a small volcanic island off Japan. He was there on a creative fellowship exchange. A search party was sent out for him, but it's not clear whether the search is ongoing, and so poets and writers are trying to ensure that it is not given up yet. Here's a link to more information, and a call for help from anyone who might have connections in the area. Here is the beginning of a lovely poem of his, which you can also find on the Poetry Foundation Web site:
The bird who creaks like a rusty playground swing
the bird who sharpens the knife the bird who blows
on the mouths of milk bottles the bird who bawls like a cat
like a cartoon baby the bird who rubs the wineglass
the bird who curlicues the bird who quacks like a duck
but is not a duck the bird who pinks on a jeweller's hammer
They hide behind the sunlight scattered throughout the canopy
At the thud of your feet they fall thoughtful and quiet
coming to life again only when you have passed
Perhaps they are not multiple but one
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