Afaa Michael Weaver 蔚雅風

Poet, Playwright, Short Fiction Writer, Journalist, Editor, and Translator

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POETS & WRITERS MAGAZINE NOVEMBER 2007 COVER STORY
The Path of Creation
from Answers.com
WEAVER'S BIO
Boston Globe
"A poet forged in heartbreak" article by Dave Aucoin
"...Afaa Weaver is the African American successor to Walt Whitman..." Ed Ochester quoted in article by Ron Brownlow. The Taipei Times. July 8, 2007
Interview with Derek Alger
EAST BALTIMORE MUSE BLOG
THE NEW POETS CAFE
AN ALL NEW POETS CAFE, A WEBSITE DEDICATED TO TRANSLATION OF POETRY
AWP Chicago Reading on You Tube: "The Interpretation of Tongues"
Academy of American Poets Profile
"(Afaa) Michael Weaver is expanding the great tradition in American parlance and song. He strives for deep resonance of American Grand Opera, in the Whitman tradition. ..His poems are incremental revelations, his own poetic music. It is a fine rhetorical striving, undiminished." --Michael S. Harper commenting on "My Father's Geography" 1992
Shiye Huang Chien Liang
Afaa's Tai Chi Teacher
U.S. Kuoshu Academy
Shiye Huang Chien Liang
Baltimore, Maryland
Poetry Speaks
Weaver recites several poems recorded at Simmons College in Boston.
Find Authors
Cave Canem Retreat for Black Poets
Review of Talisman by Kalamu Ya Salaam in African american Literature Book Club
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The Plum Flower Dance is organized according to Chinese philosophy.

Nonfiction
These Hands I Know
Finalist for the Multicultural Book Award
Poetry
Multitudes
"...Afaa Weaver is of the same vintage as Rita Dove... Multitudes announces Weaver's Brooks-like transformation from curator of a vital 'museum' to composer of revitalizing 'music'; the sounds of a tradition renewing itself."
--George Elliot Clarke, African American Review
Stations in a Dream
“[Weaver] ...is one of the most important poets of his generation.”

Stations in a Dream



Lovers with Flowers

Can you contain my most intimate whisper,
settle it down after it has entered you,
make it a part of you and still cling
to my hand as gently as your eyes hold me?

Something must protect our weakness,
our mortality, and I choose the petal
and the leaf for their own transcience,
as life is emboldened by mortal fear.

In this light through this glass and wood,
I sleep confidently in your murmurs and dreams,
deaf to significance, delighting
in our petty island of flowers and silences.

You have turned my soul to blazing pith.