Michael Bazzett

@mikhailbazharov

Goat herder. Happy poet. Rhymes w/ gazette. Five books, including The ECHO CHAMBER (Milkweed) & CLOUDWATCHER (Copper Canyon) Translator of The Popol Vuh & Humberto Ak'abal NY Times Best Poetry 2018 NEA Fellow in Poetry & Translation michaelbazzett.com

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Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· 2d

It's finally here! Publication day! My wife, Leslie, wrote a wonderful novel, MIA, and it officially drops today. I'm so proud and happy to see her years of incredible work & vision come to fruition! We're feeling very grateful & blessed!

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· 21d

60 today... ...& I woke up to someone sharing this poem over on Insta, just kismet or coincidence or... ? So I thought I'd share it with y'all, to celebrate another trip around the sun... 💜

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· 24d

Kirkus love MIA, too! ❤️ If you're looking for a propulsive read in the vein of Highsmith, or the early short novels of Ferrante (The Lost Daughter, Days of Abandonment), I can highly recommend it...

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Jul 2

Very grateful to have a few poems (including this one, loosely inspired by nature's reclamation of the Chernobyl exclusion zone) in the new issue of @conduit.org, one of the best.... Do yourself a favor & waltz over to grab yourself a copy, (costs the same as a cocktail, but the buzz lasts longer)!

MOST GHOSTS

don't believe in people, either.
They hold parties
in abandoned gymnasiums
where sapling maples
split the hardwood
flooring to reach
toward the white glow
dissolving through the skylights.
All the people left
town decades ago
when ash fell from the sky.
If you leave the gymnasium
and walk weed-shattered
asphalt lanes, you will
eventually come to a bungalow
inhabited by a bear.
She tumbles in and out
where the picture
window used to be.
If you were there,
you might liken the opening
to the dark socket
in the skull of a Cyclops.
She doesn't mind ghosts,
in fact she considers them
a sort of cousin, given
to flourishing in our absence.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Jun 30

The trailer for MIA just dropped, courtesy of Scribner & it's pretty cool! 🔥 I'm so happy for Leslie, who's worked so hard for so long.... ...the book (her debut) launches on August 12th, 7 pm, at Open Book in Minneapolis. If you're anywhere hereabouts, I hope you'll come join the celebration! 🥂

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Jun 28

A little Bert Meyers, for #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

Be like the rain
that wears a ragged coat
and finds a lamp
in the smallest stone
and sings for nothing
from street to street.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Jun 21

Don't sleep on Louis Simpson, kids... #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

American Poetry - Louis Simpson

Whatever it is, it must have
A stomach that can digest
Rubber, coal, uranium, moons, poems.

Like the shark, it contains a shoe.
It must swim for miles through the desert
Uttering cries that are almost human.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Jun 20

Look at the number of likes & tell me something isn't going on...

The poem is called "God" and has received exactly 666 likes.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Jun 12

Damn happy to have this poem land in the gorgeous new issue of @nimrodjournal.bsky.social! It's from my next book, The MORPHOLOGIST, which is about reading & death, among other things, forthcoming from Milkweed in 2027. 💀Grateful to editor @bdralyuk.bsky.social & all involved...

BURIAL DIRECTIVE

I thought to start this note with a fervent wish, then backed off.
Not from the wish but the phrasing. Fervent seems the wrong word
for the hopes of a dead man. As does wish. There is something florid
about the former, empty about the latter. So let us be succinct –
this a directive – to be heeded: 1.) Upon the event of my passing,
I would like the bones of my body to be salvaged from what remains.
2.) I would like them preserved in the appropriate lacquers, preferably
an oiled matte finish to withstand the weather yet allow the sun
to continue with its bleaching work. 3.) I would like these bones
re-assembled in a seated pose and placed outdoors, holding a book
in my left hand, its pages opened like a gull’s wings in the breeze.
4.) I would like one of my pipes cupped in my right hand. Whichever,
it doesn’t matter. My lungs and tongue will no longer be with me,
as such the pipe is ornament. 5.) The seated pose may be either
right leg over left or left over right – dealer’s choice – but the legs
should be elegantly crossed, my torso slightly reclined. 6.) If anyone
should pay a visit, I would prefer a pinch of tobacco pressed into
the pipe bowl – and lit! – in lieu of flowers. 7.) It would be good
to have me looking up from the book and into the trees. 8.) Those
were my favorites: those books that had me looking out the window
or gazing at the sea. The ones that were so good, I had to look away.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Jun 10

...from Cloudwatcher. 💜 Thanks to The American Poetry Review for publishing it!

EVERY ONION A PERFECT MINARET

I was born a baby Where did he go?

º

Especially that line between
plump forearm
& little pink hand?

º

That's the line

I'm trying to write

º
I want to sing

to the translucence inside me lost

as a freshwater pearl in the soft folds
Time used
to swaddle me up

and up

until I was man-shaped

º

It wasn't a fish who discovered water

nor a bird
air

Water conjured fish The sky
holds the patent
on feathers

º

I bought my dog a watch
to inspire him
to industry
yet still he dozes
in the sunlight

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Jun 10

ook whose debut novel got a starred review (and a lovely photo!) in Publisher's Weekly! ❤️ So happy for Leslie! Can't wait for August, when it drops!

Image of a page from the print edition of Publishers Weekly, showing an author photo of the elegant Leslie Bazzett, chin propped on hand, and a starred review for MIA, her debut novel forthcoming from Scribner on August 11th.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· May 30

This might be a bit meta, but this is the collective AI statement my department came up with at the high school where I teach, printed in yellow over the image of tree, so that it's difficult to read & you really need to slow down & pay attention. Difficulty & friction...

The refrain that Al is just a "tool" overlooks the fact that tools
– devices created and employed to carry out specific function – are not neutral implements. Generative Al was built to respond instantly, fuently, and flatteringly, and when you rely on it, the risk isnt just misinformation or dependence It's the shaping of thought itself. As teachers, we can vouch fo the fact that it trains students to expect frictionless knowledge
instead of wrestling with with uncertainty. It encourages you to seek polished answers rather than wrestle with messy, ambiguous realities. Generative AI quietly redirects your attention and behaviors, fundamentally rewiring your brain and jeopardizing your ability to think critically. Moreover, it habituates you to surrendering your attention without ever fully realizing the cost. And that surrender isn't just intellectual; it's emotional, even spiritual. Your habits of attention, of wonder, of struggle are the very roots of who you might become. The Blake English Department's policy on Al is intended to help you think deeply, question assumptions, read closely, and thus develop your sense of self. For these reasons, the English Department policy is that you may not use AI for any assignment, in any capacity, unless instructed otherwise.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· May 20

I love how the poem seems to move inward and outward at once, like the spiral shell of a chambered nautilus... Mary Ruefle is a good drug.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· May 18

WOW! Starred review in Publishers Weekly for Leslie's forthcoming novel! Let's go! 🎉

MIA

Two American expats in a picturesque Mexican city forge an exciting and dangerous bond in Bazzett's nuanced and unsettling debut. The narrative focuses on Sally, who recently moved to San Miguel de Allende with her architect husband, Tom, and their two kids, prickly second grader Ida and sweet-natured kindergartner Henry. With little to do, and always on the lookout for someone to replace the mother who abandoned her as a child, Sally becomes fascinated with Louise, a glamorous and haughty older woman for whom she feels
"an almost primitive attraction." Louise appears to be equally smitten, and the two are soon spending days together swimming, talking, and drinking. When Louise introduces Sally to her friends as Mia, and implies that she is Mia's mother, Sally goes along with it, as well as with Louise's proposal that she leave Ida with her most afternoons. As their lives become ever more entwined, Sally hides their relationship from Tom, a move that threatens their marriage and ultimately their children. In measured beats, Bazzett explores the dark side of indulging in fantasies, however benign. It amounts to a singular take on the folie à deux that leaves the reader pondering the nature of obsession and the line between fate and free will.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· May 12

I can't believe she's two-years-old already! 🎉 So proud of this lil' submission, who's now walking & talking, and one day hopes to grow up and become a full grown "In Progress." 🙏

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Apr 26

CLOUDWATCHER's been out a few weeks, & I've read from it a number of times, & I'm truly grateful to see it begin to make its way into the world... Thanks all. Now, I go fallow for a bit. Enjoy this last little poem & maybe we'll cross paths again midsummer? #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

Today

I told the moon to go home. I let the river flow.
I entered the cave with the nine songs I know.
I wandered dark water, thick with eyeless fish,
and my mind is the same quivering animal

that it was: tired of running its little rusted
wheel, the cedar shavings of its cage, the little
bottle where it takes a sip of gin, tiny pink
fingers folded in what looks like supplication.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Apr 21

Here's the little story itself... Thanks again, to Wigleaf!

Cast-Iron Airplane
Michael Bazzett

I have an airplane made of cast iron. It has no engine. It does have rubber wheels that allow me to wheel it into open fields on sunlit days and climb into the cockpit. Or maybe the day isn't sunlit. Maybe a light snow is falling and the frozen grass is slowly being covered, and the only sound is the crunch of my footfalls and the creaking wheels, my breath coming in little white huffs. I slip into the pilot's seat and sit gazing at the dark pines that line the edge of the field. Then the plane begins to rumble, trundling across the field before it climbs into the air, heavily but steadily, and silent as the snow itself.
If you're going to fly a cast-iron airplane with no engine you might as well do it while it's snowing. The risk abates once you crawl above the clouds.
The view is the only real reason to own such a machine. And to be honest, I don't own it. I just kind of borrow it sometimes.
And now the whole contraption has disappeared and I'm just up here, zooming along in a tiny seat, shirt-tail whipping madly, no plane whatsoever, just me feeling the wet breath of cloud on my cheek, staring down at a world that looks as if it were a meticulous model train lay-out in the basement of some guy. Maybe a guy with too much time on his hands.
Or maybe that's unfair. Maybe he has just the right amount. Maybe he believes in the world enough that he wants to remake it, small and dear and delicate in his basement, where he goes and sits sometimes, and opens a beer, just one, and his eyes rove over his little world, hungrily taking in every detail, with a feeling more quiet than love.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Apr 12

Wendy Cope #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

HE TELLS HER

He tells her that the Earth is flat—
He knows the facts, and that is that.
In altercations fierce and long
She tries her best to prove him wrong.
But he has learned to argue well.
He calls her arguments unsound
And often asks her not to yell.
She cannot win. He stands his ground.
The planet goes on being round.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Apr 9

@parnassusbooks.bsky.social in Nashville is a true gem. Owned by Anne Patchett, and peopled by marvelous booksellers, it's one of my favorite places in the state of TN (my old stomping grounds, Knox-Vegas, Andersonville, Sewanee...). So, this one-line review from Max means plenty... 💜🙏

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Apr 7

😶‍🌫️ Friends! Today's the official pub day for Cloudwatcher... & I just wanted to drop a line to express my gratitude to all of you for being fellow voyagers, whatever form that's taken: friend, reader, editor, mentor, compadre, admired kin, all of the above... I'm literally beside myself w/ joy 🌩️

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Mar 31

...in Minneapolis. The same goes for this one. Same rock, same hill. Yet nothing's the same. (Ask Heraclitus for more details.) In any case, I hope if you're in MPLS, you can join me for the launch of Cloudwatcher, one week from now, 6:30 pm, April 7th, at Sisyphus Brewing!

The cover of a collection of poem, with an image of a man whose head has somehow been replaced by a cloud...

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Mar 31

My kids got this little statue for me, as Sisyphus (a close personal friend) is perhaps the most fitting patron saint for poets. I have a particular love for the myth, too, because since my first book debuted in 2014, at the tender age of 48, I have launched each book at Sisyphus Brewing... 1/2

small bronze statue of Sisyphus pushing a boulder up an incline...

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Mar 25

Thanks to everyone who came out last night to hear some poems & conversation between Maggie & I! I hope you had as much fun as we did!

Michael Bazzett stands behind Maggie Smith with a flowerpot obscuring/replacing his head, while Maggie smiles

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Mar 25

actual footage of what happens in and around me when I'm writing a poem... ...taken by magnetic resonance imaging equipment at my local pharmacy.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Mar 22

A little Ryan Vine, for #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

Good Company

Walking through the snowy field
the day after
I walked through the snowy field,

I step next to my first set of prints
so anyone who cares to can see
I was never alone.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Mar 21

William Carlos Williams Always with the plums, this guy... And look at that bravura lineation in the second stanza...

To a Poor Old Woman

munching a plum on
the street a paper bag
of them in her hand

They taste good to her
They taste good
to her. They taste
good to her

You can see it by
the way she gives herself
to the one half
sucked out in her hand

Comforted
a solace of ripe plums
seeming to fill the air
They taste good to her

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Mar 21

W.S. Merwin

When the War Is Over

When the war is over

We will be proud of course the air will be

Good for breathing at last

The waters will have been improved the salmon

And the silence of heaven will migrate more perfectly

The dead will think the living are worth it we will know

Who we are

And we will all enlist again

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Mar 16

They make a rather striking couple, don't they? If you're in or around Minneapolis next Tuesday, March 24th, you can hear poems from these two little beauties (and conversation, too!) at 7 pm, Queermunity, in uptown, next to Magers & Quinn bookstore.

The cover image of "A Suit or a Suitcase" Poems, by Maggie Smith. The image is a woman whose face has been overtaken by a cloud.

The cover image of "Cloudwatcher" Poems by Michael Bazzett. The image is man in a dark shirt whos head has morphed into a misty cloud.

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Mar 15

Beyond grateful to APR for publishing this poem... Writing poems while your city –– and home ––is being terrorized by thugs with guns might seem odd. Or even absurd. But, as Szymborska famously said, “I prefer the absurdity of writing poems / to the absurdity of not writing poems.”

Michael Bazzett@mikhailbazharov· Mar 10

This is how I'm going to remember Baltimore... ...reveling in wondrous poetry in a candlelit tavern. AWP was a beautiful blur, and it was such a delight to see so many of you lovelies.