Towards the end of the film, it's him in front of an audience. That scene. It mentions Eurydice.

For what I've read, I suspect it to be by Peter Gizzi, but I'm not sure.

So...help!!

Hello beautiful people.
I am a university student from Scotland, and I was wondering if anybody would be interested in helping me with a project that I am currently doing. I am a community education student, and for this project we have been asked to look at the ways art can change the world, I am specifically focussing on poetry as y chosen art form. I have loved poetry from an early age and know it has changed my world.
To get to the point, I was wondering if anybody would be interested in sending me a small paragraph on how poetry has changed your world. I would be looking to hear how poetry has maybe taught you things you wouldn’t have learned in a traditional educational manner such as in school, how it has helped your mental wellbeing, whether poetry has empowered you/ made you feel empowered within communities. And the biggie, has poetry given you a community? Has poetry changed your world?
If this sounds like something you would be interested in, please reach out. I will leave my university email address down below! Please include name (real or fake), and where in the world you hail from.
Additionally, if you would like to attach any poetry you have written or any poetry that has specifically touched you, please do.
The end project (hopefully) would be a sort of collage of your stories.
My email address is: [B00408950@studentmail.uws.ac.uk](mailto:B00408950@studentmail.uws.ac.uk)
Thank you so much!

The sight of my lover's face made me faint At night, 'Miir', a moon beam took me away

The $3500 Leonard Cohen Poetry Prize opens each year from Sep 21—Nov 7 for poets everywhere.

Send us up to 3 pages of poetry on the intersections of love, faith & s*x.
Submission Fee: $22
Submissions close November 7, 2026.

$1000 — 1 Winner
$250 x 10 Finalists

Pretty much what the title says. I’m writing something and want to use the word Atramentous and turn it into Atrafraction or Atrafract (like Refraction or Refract) to refer to the light. As in, instead of the light being bent, the light is blackened (Super edgy, I know lol)

I looked around for words that fit and still rhymed and came up empty handed. I could probably get away with moving stuff around and using a different word but the fake word is kinda’ growing on me.

I wanted thoughts on whether a made up word was a bad idea or not in a poem. I figure it’ll make what I’m writing a little more difficult to understand though.

In case you don't want to pick through the article to find them, they are:

Jorie Graham, Killing Spree (Carcanet Press)

Keith Jarrett, Hide Me Under the Blood and I Shall Be Satisfied (Bad Betty Press)

Imani Mason Jordan, PIVOT (HELA Press)

Sylvia Legris, Sleep Gate (Fitzcarraldo Editions)

Shara McCallum, Behold (Peepal Tree Press)

Kim Moore, The House of Broken Things (Corsair Poetry)

Andrew Motion, Gravity Archives (Faber & Faber)

Holly Pester, Cafés (Fitzcarraldo Editions)

Jana Prikryl, The Channel (Faber & Faber)

Billy Ramsell, Render (Banshee Press)

Anyone read any of these or have any thoughts about the selected poets? I know Motion and Graham but all the rest are new to me.

Valentine for Ernest Mann
By Naomi Shihah Nye

You can’t order a poem like you order a taco.
Walk up to the counter, say, “I’ll take 2” and expect it 
To be handed back to you on a shiny plate.
Still, I like your spirit.
Anyone who says, “Here’s my address, write me a
Poem,” deserves something in reply.
So, I’ll tell you a secret instead:

Poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes, they are
Sleeping. They are the shadows drifting across our
Ceilings the moment before we wake up. What we have
To do is live in a way that lets us find them.

Once I knew a man who gave his wife two skunks for
A valentine.
He couldn’t understand why she was crying.
“I thought they had such beautiful eyes” 
And he was serious. He was a serious man who
Lived in a  serious way. Nothing was ugly just because
The world said so. He really liked those skunks.
So, he reinvented them as valentines and they became
Beautiful.
At least to him. And the poems that had been hiding in
The eyes of skunks for centuries crawled out and curled
Up at his feet.

Maybe if we reinvent whatever our lives give us we find
Poems. Check your garage, the odd sock in drawer, the 
Person you almost like but not quite.
And let me know.

for H.F.

The match-flame held to the half-inch block
catches, and I blow it out.
The flame grows and flashes
gold, then shrinks and almost dies
to a drop of spectral blue
that detaches, floats,
a wisp of fire in air, dances
high, a little higher, is gone.

Now
from the incense smouldering
sweet smoke of cedar rises
a while like memory.

Then only ashes.