David Lehman & David Shapiro

Bent Aphorisms

I.

 

Homage to Leibniz and Stevens

 

“Leibniz is a philosopher without flash”

A Welsh terrier is a Scottish terrier without flash.
Ice is snow without flash.
A blizzard is a snowstorm with flash.
Leopardi is a pessimist with flash.
Many New York poets are Frank O’Hara without flash.
Love is friendship with flash.
A flashlight by Jasper Johns is a flashlight with flash.
An aphorism may be a sentence with flash.

—David Shapiro, 3/1/03

With Flash

 

The rose that was red with a black border is ash.
Every rock star in London is Jumping Jack Flash.
The priest is he who says: let us dish.
Thou shalt not eat fish.
Write with brio, with dash.
To write a book is not to be abashed.
The landscape is female: this hill, that bush.
This is the picture I painted without a brush.
Your sins are not stains that will come out in the wash.

—David Lehman, 3/1/03

II.

 

All Roads

 

All roads lead to poetry.
Poetry is the opposite of stupidity, not prose.
Poetry is not a game, nor is it a dream.
But poetry is a big dream and full of vertigo.
Poetry…or have I said too much already? Be compact.
Poetry and architecture: Marriage of.
The young aphorism is godlike; the old aphorism gets the young worm.
He was such an Oulipian he would rather make the bed than lie in it. Sleep,
restless grammarians.

—David Shapiro, 3/3/03

Aphoristic Agenda

 

All poems lead to the highway (my way).
Poetry is to dance as architecture is to romance.
The young poem is a god. The old poem is a goddess.
He was such an Olympian he lifted weights between shots of Maker’s Mark.
Vertigo is a dream that contains the index of forgotten books.
No one compiled the index, no one wrote the books,
yet they exist and in the proper order.
What else is the universe if not a university library
ten minutes before closing time?

—David Lehman, 3/3/03

 

The Inevitable “But”

 

But who can paint the snow?
Can you?
My nudes wear snowflake bikinis.

A Barnard grad on skis
asked: may I edit your genius?
(But who can paint the snow?)

A good fact-checker, for such am I,
can collect flaws and correct laws.
(She wore a snowflake bikini.)

You are merry because you saw
The Cherry Orchard and did not cry.
(Did you paint it blue, or did I?)

The aphorisms were decent, the sonnets obscene.
You painted from the body, I from the screen.
(My nudes wear snowflake bikinis.)

Like the grandson of a serf, I work at home
and stare at the sea on the screen.
In my nostrils, the smell of the foam.
(But who can paint the snow?)

—David Lehman and David Shapiro (January 2009)

Poem in a Chinese Form

 

Do you love sweetness?
Are you ready to take dictation
Now and for the rest of your life?
Into the aurora let a star burst

A star – birth
And thousands of butterflies.
“Have you ever had a good job?”
“Never.”

I cannot see “it” in the sky
Though I conceived it in the sky.
Birds are evil, they say.
What kind of bird am I?

Shelley died
In the quarrel between wind and wave,
But did he know the turbaned Turk
Who watched Olivier play Othello?

In the middle of the performance Desdemona shut up
In the middle of Chinese forms
The dead live in the game of our youth
Like a child’s game, but what are the rules?

I don’t know
An amphitheater of the angels
Fred Dupee told me to beware of “of”
He killed himself

You didn’t know that?
I hear that Les is very sick
I’m afraid Les is worse than very sick
I said an amphitheater of the angels

“May I plagiarize you?”
I wrote to John Ashbery.
“What did he say?” “He said yes.
“John was so noble.”

Parkinson’s is even worse than its name
And it comes in many varieties
Bruce Kawin praised your last book
I wonder what the last book is

“Sisyphus pumps”: is that what you said?
Do you trust him?
Or is he a “man of integrity” in whom
Wretchedness and splendor coexist?

One day I’ll show you my favorite letter
From John he wrote “we both
Seem to be fascinated by cars”
But I didn’t know I was

Maybe we’ll be invited to the White House soon
I’ve been to the Black House
Who lives there?
Good question

Birds are evil, they say
Amorous, angry or enraged
Which bird are you?
I’m the cock that crows at dawn

The lines I liked are
“His mother was an actress”
“Things recur as in Proust”
He liked “urgent masks”

You don’t want to fall down in front of someone
Falling down alone can be enjoyable
If you’re at death’s door and don’t want to knock
When you’re standing on the porch with your psychiatrist

Anne Porter said
We’re built for heaven
There are many universes
But in all of them I’ll find you

—David Lehman and David Shapiro (November 5, 2019)

Notes

On New Year’s Day 2003 David Shapiro suggested that he and I correspond in poetry on a daily basis. We started with haiku in January, went on to couplets in February and aphorisms in March before running out of gas after a week of trading sonnets in April. Shapiro chose the forms, but I am not certain which one of us came up with the title “Bent Aphorisms” for the first few we did in March.

We started writing “The Inevitable ‘But’” without realizing that a loose villanelle would result from our effort, but we found out quickly enough. David S. wrote lines one and three; snow was one of his go-to images.

Our aim in “Poem in a Chinese Form” was to write, by way of a telephone conversation, a poem in a Chinese form David S. called the “four by four.” David L., transcribing the exchange, took this to mean two stanzas of four lines each. Ideally each block of eight lines would make a separate poem. David L. acknowledged his aim was to showcase his friend’s mind in motion.

—David Lehman

David Lehman’s new book of sixty sonnets, Ithaca, was published by Criterion Books in February 2026. His recent nonfiction books include One Hundred Autobiographies and The Mysterious Romance of Murder. For A Fine Romance: Jewish Songwriters, American Songs, he received the Deems Taylor Award from ASCAP. Lehman, the editor of The Oxford Book of American Poetry, divides his time between New York City and Ithaca, New York.
David Shapiro was a violin prodigy as a boy. January, his first book of poems, was published in 1965 when he was an eighteen-year-old freshman at Columbia, where he was an associate editor of Columbia Review, and won a Kellett Fellowship for two years of graduate study at Care College, Cambridge, England. It was as students at Columbia that Shapiro met (and mentored) David Lehman, who graduated two years after Shapiro and followed him as a Kellett Felllow in Cambridge. Other books Shapiro published before he turned twenty-five include Poems from Deal, A Man Holding an Acoustic Panel, and The Page-Turner. Among more recent collections are New and Selected Poems (Overlook Press, 2013) and In Memory of an Angel (City Lights, 2017). After earning a PhD at Columbia, Shapiro taught at Columbia, William Paterson University, and The Cooper Union, while producing numerous prose works, including monographs on John Ashbery, Jasper Johns, and Piet Mondrian. Shapiro’s You Are the You: Writings and Interviews on Poetry, Art, and the New York School —introduced by David Lehman and edited by Kate Farrell — appeared from MadHat Press in spring 2024. Prolific, enthusiastic, and indefatigable, Shapiro collaborated on poems with numerous partners. He died in 2025 after a long illness.

David Lehman

Poem in the Manner of “Poem” by Frank O’Hara

          —for Stephen Paul Miller, who wrote “Hillary Clinton has collapsed!”

It is 12:25 in New York a Monday
and when the street rises to meet me
the sun sneaks out between a
pair of clouds splitting like forlorn
lovers and I’m in a hurry for no
reason other than I’m a New
Yorker it’s my nature to walk fast
and besides I want to meet you
whoever you are that’s when
I pass a newsstand and pick up
the afternoon paper and get
on the subway where for
once in my life I get a seat and
read “I’m a Fun Person” by
Hillary Clinton which I doubt
she wrote but hope she will
forward to her friends with
the one-word comment: “Humorous”

David Lehman’s most recent books of poetry are Poems in the Manner Of (Simon & Schuster, 2017); New and Selected Poems (Scribner, 2013); Yeshiva Boys (Scribner, 2009), and When a Woman Loves a Man (Scribner, 2005). His critical works include A Fine Romance: Jewish Songwriters, American Songs (Schocken, 2009) and The Last Avant-Garde: The Making of the New York School of Poets (Doubleday, 1998). Lehman is the series editor of The Best American Poetry and teaches in the New School’s graduate writing program.

Editor’s Notes (Posit 15)

 

It is a bittersweet pleasure to introduce this magnificent fifteenth issue of Posit, coming as it does in the wake of what feels like an avalanche of national and global upheaval — both natural and human-made, toxically entangled as those categories are. But also: coming out on the heels of such a great loss for anyone interested in contemporary poetry. I’m referring, of course, to the death of John Ashbery, one of the greatest and most beloved poets of the past half-century. Although his loss hits hard, I find consolation in detecting his influence on so much of the poetry I love — and publish.

This issue is a perfect case in point, notable as it is for the singularity and variety of the voices it assembles — an aesthetic capaciousness which owes no small thanks to Ashbery’s paradigm-shifting work, which demonstrated by contagious example the extent of what is possible. Which ranges, in this issue, from the sizzling imaginative fertility of Will Alexander’s monumental monologue to the analytic calm of Robert Okaji’s meditations; from the poignant crises of Louis Bourgeois’ beautifully drawn protagonists to the understated humor of David Lehman’s and Stephen Paul Miller’s riffs on Frank O’Hara’s famous Lana Turner poem; from John Beer’s tidal flow of verbal riches to Charles Borkhuis’ razor-sharp yet deadly serious wit; from Patty Seyburn’s evocative experimentalism to Aliesa Zoecklein’s equally evocative lyric odes to love and loss.

To quote Mr. Ashbery, all of the work in this issue offers “what we need now:” these “unlikely / Challenger[s] pounding on the gates of an amazed / Castle” (“Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror”). So I hope you’ll honor his passing by reading, or re-reading, his work — and theirs:

the revolutionary heat and devastating light of this fragment from Will Alexander’s tome, The Ganges, the “supreme toil” of its “treasonous instruction” in the voice of an Untouchable, that “remnant outside a palace of hoaxes” banned “to exclusion voiced through tainted opinion,” with its grim echoes of the meanness and menace in our contemporary political landscape;

the rhythmic fluidity of John Beer’s “The Fictive Hour,” “split[ting] the feast of [its] intentions” in wave after melodic wave, enacting the sensitive pursuit of meaning embedded in the quiddity of the moment becoming “the mother of itself;”

Charles Borkhuis’ grave yet bemused invitations to puzzle over “the truth . . . which withdraws from the slightest observation,” deploying the insights of meta-and particle physics in his signature precise yet playful demotic idiom to “thread the eye through an ear / and . . . wing it outward on a word;”

the tragicomedy of Louis Bourgeois’ Salingeresque tale of the clash of integrity with pragmatism under the pressure of social reality and, especially, of time;

Lauren Camp’s evocative lyrics lifting off from the springboard of the personal to touch the universal, rising from the “rant in my inbox” which “is many / fresh-fallen failures /masquerading as failures” to the desert clouds over a party which “plump / then conjugate / all the pleasure for hours;”

Robert Farrell’s aphoristic, incantatory meditations delving, like “a vehicle into a vehicle,” into works by Anscombe, Aristotle, Zosimus, and Hala Mohammed to propose that “[a]ll / things hang together even lives that meet their natural / ends;”

the sensitivity of Cal Freeman’s meditations on literary and personal heritage in which “no one knows / what to measure or how” in light of “the terrible affront and tacit / threat [our] presence constitutes / for every seen and unseen creature;”

David Lehman’s tribute to Stephen Paul Miller’s variation on Frank O’Hara’s “Poem [Lana Turner Has Collapsed!]” — each as wryly gentle in their counsel as the charming original — Miller’s version literally raising the stakes on O’Hara’s by virtue of the weight of what’s at stake (“oh Hillary Clinton you’re going to lose get up!”)— while Lehman’s version hovers with understated complexity between empathetic optimism and doubt of a candidate who might or might not share the social ease of the kind of gregarious narrator who “want[s] to meet you / whoever you are;”

The contemplative focus of Robert Okaji’s koan-like meditations on perception filtered through the metaphorical and philosophical implications of abstraction, in which “[t]he images consume no space but the effect is of distance;”

Patty Seyburn’s richly elliptical and compelling investigations into the vulnerability of the human body and the mythography of swans, entailing “something about anomaly” and “mimesis overload;”

Devon Wootten’s delicious excerpt from Gimme the Pretty, enlisting the reader to partner its probing of the nature and value of its own endeavor (yes, poetry, but not only), achieving any number of “truly epic volta[s]” as it delivers “what [we] came for— / realer done right,”

and Aliesa Zoecklein’s elegant explorations of the grief and hazard embedded in the paraphernalia of the ordinary: the sequin dress of a former lover, the sustenance of a grieving survivor, the “convincing curve” of a swimming pool beyond which “there’s a gate-latch moment when the stranger arrives.”

Thank you for honoring these artists with your time and attention.

Susan Lewis

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Welcome to the visual art of Posit 15!

Jodi Colella uses traditional needlework skills to create artworks that are referential to the great traditions she is working within while also building a commentary on her travels throughout the world. Her work speaks to the evolving roles of women in Western and Non-Western cultures as well her experiences of the natural world.

Brandon Graving, a master printmaker, uses paper in interesting and innovative ways. She casts it, creating three-dimensional sculptures that seem to defy gravity. Her mastery of printmaking technique enables her to push the medium past its known limits until the results defy categorization.

There is a palpable visual rhythm and rhyme in the graphic work of Francis Pavy. His visual interpretations of the music of his native Louisiana dance and jump off the page. His ties to Southern American folklore and culture are deep, and he expresses them in a distinctly contemporary way.

The complex sculptures of Lina Puerta present a delicate and beautifully crafted view of the confluence of the natural and manmade worlds. Her great sensitivity to the found objects she often uses and her skills in combining them creates a universe that is simultaneously natural and artificial—as well as beautiful to look at.

Umar Rashid has created a new history of the American Empire. Through his brilliant and subversive series of faux-historical painting and writings he imagines a national history quite different from that taught in school. His pictorial style riffs on many historic sources and the result is something completely original. A self-taught artist, Rashid has combined his keen intellect with a sly sense of humor and political outrage.

Enjoy!
Melissa Stern