“Be
mindful of names. They’ll etch themselves
like
daily specials on the window glass
in
a delible medium. They’ll pass
transformed,
erased, a cloud the wind dissolves
above
the ruckus of the under-twelves
on
the slide, the toddlers on the grass,
the
ragged skinny guy taking a piss
in
the bushes, a matron tanning her calves
on
a bench, skirt tucked around her knees.”—American poet, translator and critic
Marilyn Hacker, “Names,” in The New Yorker, Sept. 22, 2008
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