Love Speaks Its Name: Gay and Lesbian Love Poems by J. D. McclatchyLove Speaks Its Name: Gay and Lesbian Love Poems by J. D. Mcclatchy

Love Speaks Its Name: Gay and Lesbian Love Poems

EditorJ. D. Mcclatchy

Hardcover | May 15, 2001

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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.
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.
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Title:Love Speaks Its Name: Gay and Lesbian Love PoemsFormat:HardcoverDimensions:256 pages, 6.5 × 4.41 × 0.7 inPublished:May 15, 2001Publisher:Knopf Doubleday Publishing GroupLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0375411704

ISBN - 13:9780375411700

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"I Have Had Not One Word From Her "by Sappho(trans. by Mary Barnard) I have not had one word from herFrankly I wish I were dead.When she left, she wepta great deal; she said tome, "This parting must beendured, Sappho. I go unwillingly."I said, "Go, and be happy but remember (you knowwell) 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 withall that they most wished for beside them "while no voices chantedchoruses without ours, no woodlot bloomed in spring without song . . ."