SPRING/SUMMER 2026

Three Poems on the Modernists

Elizabeth Robinson

Thelma Wood and Federico Garcia Lorca are hungry

Each imagines, independently of the other, walking along a shore.

Each asserts a right to tragedy. She asserts her claim, and if he is dubious, so what?

He is allowed his own preoccupations.

He is less tall than she is, is slighter. But still hungry.

A blood orange cut into wedges. He says not

much, feels a little

interest in her opulent claims, but more

in how she found what she found, why

she betrayed it. Her horsey face speaks only American, and he

has only Spanish. In the strictest sense.

The petulance of nationality. Her misgivings are all correct. His efficient death.

They find they are linked by what they might imagine saying, but not to each other.

They imagine most

the acid of the orange staining the surface of the table, the transliteration,

and not the translation, of the red juice which should have been orange, and which neither eats as they navigate its coastline.

Isamu Noguchi asks Paul Robeson

The spine is a landscape, I believe, and the architect collects its pliability.

No less pliable a garden than the voice; sunken.

To hope is to be exact, a borderline.

And that is a question?

And that is a request?


To ask is to know ahead of time how the landscape will appear.

A detention, the grandchild of an escapee.

One’s name is reported to mean “courage.”

If courage is an internment camp, a clatter-montage, instead of itself:

the perfected art of restlessness.

And so I ask you.

And so I assent.

Alfred North Whitehead, becoming

Slowly, the planet becomes green or

recedes from its greenness. What

we’d best recall is that one leaf

is not a whole truth.

Inside its garment, its supple

frock, the organism

ripens, but as for its fruit?

Obiter dicta:

what I mean to say is

that truth too is

deciduous.

Truth can be taken off, and so

disrobed.

Naked, I discovered myself as a failed physicist within

a grove and not

an orchard.

The single leaf

turns

and denudes its tree, the pattern irregular and

true because incomplete.

The fruiting season surges

toward me, molts, and reconsiders:

nakedness so restless and persuasive that it

dapples its recipients.

Excerpted from BEING MODERNISTS TOGETHER by Elizabeth Robinson, forthcoming with Solid Objects (November, 2026).