Forgive us for being village idiots, we who would bring what is alive to a still point where it can no longer go on living mindlessly. We cling to clarity like a carved god, but clarity is air, so we come to poetry out of desperation, surely. That part of life which hasn’t must throw up that which has with a sure touch. The only labor is just to watch as the long breath of something perfect unfolds.
Jim Klein has published more than one hundred poems in literary magazines, including Berkeley Poetry Review, The Beloit Poetry Journal, Joe Soap's Canoe, Oxford Magazine, and The Wormwood Review. He was a semifinalist in the Anthony Hecht Prize and The Sawtooth Poetry Prize. Jim has led a weekly poetry workshop for twelve years and edited The Red Wheelbarrow.
