Han VanderHart
@hanvanderhart.bsky.social
5.5K followers 2.2K following 9.8K posts
Hollis Summers Poetry Prize: Larks (Ohio U Press, 2025). What Pecan Light (BCP, 2021). Co-Editor: @riverriverbooks.bsky.social EIC: @moistpoetryjournal.bsky.social Host: @ofpoetrypodcast.bsky.social Southern. PhD Duke. they/them. Durham, NC. 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🇵🇸
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hanvanderhart.bsky.social
Cover of Larks, with photograph by Nicola Davison-Reed, forthcoming from Ohio University Press in April, 2025.

www.ohioswallow.com/978082142591...
Book covers featuring black and white photograph: wooden floor, spare wooden table, stack of four cameras, floating sheet white curtain. Delicate white title font.

Larks
Poems

Han VanderHart
Winner of the Hollis Summers Poetry Prize
Selected by Chanda Feldman
Reposted by Han VanderHart
maureenthorson.bsky.social
“The long file of mule trains and metal” A poem by Peter Gizzi.
UNTITLED AMHERST SPECTER

a sound of open ground having been taken

now a silver wisp winking on the roof

silver imp waving from a long shaft ago

I am a leaf storm night

I have seen the long file of mule trains and metal

the cavalry

these sounds we live within speaking to you now

sir, I was a soldier in these woods
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
October humidity
Like a heart-red tower light,
now bright, now not so bright.

Autumn night at the end of the world.

Charles Wright, from The Sestets

We Hope That Love Calls Us, but Sometimes We're Not So Sure

No wind-sighs. And rain-splatter heaves up over the mountains, and dies out.
October humidity
Like a heart-red tower light,
now bright, now not so bright.
Autumn night at the end of the world.
In its innermost corridors,
all damp and all light are gone, and love, too.
Amber does not remember the pine.
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
He went BACK AND FORTH until he and ChatGPT came up with the Shakespearean brilliance of “Hey Sarah, it was lovely to meet you”?!

Where is the labor. The labor. Omg.
Reposted by Han VanderHart
lisasass.bsky.social
The Paris Review unlocked the Krasznahorkai interview! Grab a fresh cup and get comfy—here’s the free link: mailchi.mp/theparisrevi...
#booksky #amreading
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
Resharing this one-line poem by Czesław Miłosz for #smallpoemsunday
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
Your reminder that boundaries are for you, not others. 💙
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
I have to turn off comments from folks I don’t follow when I post texts from Ginsberg or Pound, like—yes, in point of fact, I have read their biographies, and more. It’s Dr. VanderHart. 🙃
Reposted by Han VanderHart
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
hits different in the age of AI / LLMs
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
Ezra Pound, ABC of Reading #sigh
A people that grows accustomed to sloppy writing is a people in process of losing grip on its empire and on itself.
And this looseness and blowsiness is not anything as simple and scandalous as abrupt and disordered syntax.
It concerns the relation of expression to meaning.
Abrupt and disordered syntax can be at times very honest, and an elaborately constructed sentence can be at times merely an elaborate camouflage.

From ABC of Reading by Ezra Pound
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
Oh, Gregory ❤️‍🩹 I’m glad it was on its way. I’m glad she wanted that for you.
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
I think that’s best care scenario? Haha. Having a mother who would care! 😉
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
The real poetry prize is not the NBA is not the Nobel or the Pulitzer or the NBCC or whatever it’s did you stop in the middle of your kitchen and read a poem aloud to someone you love.
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
Kyla your poemmmm. 😍🙏 Fresh AF. Omg. Have already ordered your book. Can’t wait. 🎉🎉🎉
Reposted by Han VanderHart
luaz.bsky.social
#Poetry -- The preorder page for Becoming Altar has been expanded and updated to include more about me, and a swell poem. Check it out! And @unionherald.bsky.social many thanks for the blurb.
asterismbooks.com/product/beco...
Cover image of Becoming Alter, a blue field with yellow type. Also showing the spine of the book, with white type.
Reposted by Han VanderHart
natashagogo.bsky.social
I've stopped reading pieces by other Americans at this point, at least non-immigrants who don't have any direct experience with radical regime change or economic collapse. Was happy to see this essay published by the Atlantic. www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archiv...
Authoritarianism Feels Surprisingly Normal—Until It Doesn’t
Life in Venezuela was deceptively mundane. Then everything collapsed.
www.theatlantic.com
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
Everything that we've known, and come to count on,
has fled the world.

Charles Wright, from Sestets 🍂
Our Days Are Political, but Birds Are Something Else

Tenth month of the year.
Fallen leaves taste bitter. And grass.
Everything that we've known, and come to count on,
has fled the world.
Their bones crack in the west wind.
Where are the deeds we're taught to cling to?
How I regret having missed them,
and their mirrored pieces of heaven.
Like egrets, they rise in the clear sky,
their shadows like distance on the firred hills.
Reposted by Han VanderHart
ifycomedy.com
I think we really should stop using antifa and just fully say anti-fascist and get them saying they are against anti fascism. Using antifa is giving them some distance and I genuinely think some of their base don’t even know that’s what it stands for.
Reposted by Han VanderHart
forgottenpoets.bsky.social
.
From 'Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings' (2015)
—Joy Harjo

#poetry #poem #booksky
Fall Song

It is a dark fall day.
The earth is slightly damp with rain.
I hear a jay.
The cry is blue.
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
The good die young and the wicked prosper, truly
Reposted by Han VanderHart
phillipcrymble.bsky.social
Anne Carson, from the Summer 2025 issue of Daedalus.
How Pants

all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by
all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by trousers, too
all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by all kinds of pants went by yet the birches linger
Reposted by Han VanderHart
upfromsumdirt.bsky.social
kyla houbolt
ONE FROG

from her chapbook collection, But Then I Thought
One Frog

Tonight one frog sings outside. It's no country for rain. I live far away.
but I can hear this one frog, it's a loud frog, alone in some creek or
other. in a county of two lane roads that twist in the dark. Still there is
comfort here because somewhere glimmering among the darkened
trees is a lighted window. An old man and his nephew sit inside,
whittling. They're making toys. One makes a small cart with rolling
wheels: the other makes a dog with a wagging tail. There are no
children nearby, not even in the neighboring counties, so one might
wonder who the toys are for. But the old man and his nephew don't
seem concerned: they iust keep whittling. Occasionally one of them
smiles. The shavings go into the fire. The frog sings. The roads twist in
the dark. The creek is low. One day it might rain.