In the first weeks, they wanted for nothing. This is how it always is— bountiful body, ravenous laws. They watched at the curb as the horse parade passed: colorful flags, fanfare, such clapping. They called to the elderly couple across the way, raising their pale hands each morning and evening, as to an old question….
I was once asked in an interview why cell phones don’t appear in my poems. This was followed up with a question about where I imagined the things that occur in my poems actually occur: "You know what I mean," said the interviewer, "things like deer and trees, birds and light . . ." I…
MASTHEAD Guest Editor C. D. Wright Editor Don Lee Poetry Editor David Daniel Assistant Editor Gregg Rosenblum Associate Fiction Editor Maryanne O'Hara Associate Poetry Editor Susan Conley Founding Editor DeWitt Henry Founding Publisher Peter O'Malley Assistant Fiction Editors: Jay Baron Nicorvo and Nicole Kelley. Editorial Assistants: Patricia Reed and Kathleen Rooney. Proofreader: Megan Weireter. Poetry…
What if we could look at language as matter [as real and outside our imagining as granite or cedar trees] and move inside words, the way particle physicists break into atoms with the force of their own energy and light? To track the intelligent chaos of language by threshing open the word, olive pressed…
A little morning of Scarlatti, and prudent flowers, white tulips even whiter in light from the window’s true divided panes, grass, a rufus-sided towhee and invisible fox in shadow, yes, this was witnessed while a second dream went on, a knife slitting through an abdomen and upward to a chest wall, a whole country grimacing,…
As Steiglitz needed to photograph O’Keeffe’s neck in 1921 that we might see her as he saw her, Jennifer Martenson shoots from behind in 2002 “to show the vantage rather than what was seen from it.” The poems, fictions, and hybrid “lulus” (see Field, Thalia) herein, largely by younger writers, work along parallel or intersecting…
Days uncoiling like the hose from her fingers, days measured by the mechanical car buzzing down the driveway. Her boys wrestle for the control box, shriek, their calls tear the air, hush the birds, and send her, with hose, to transmit water against their heads just enough to shut them off. Now only the sound…
Arthur Dove, 1931 I have spent all day with the silver disc of the barn owl’s face embedded in my thoughts & my beloved under general anesthetic, his whole form etherized, calcite laddering his spine, strange thorns in the distinct cave of him. I wring my hands, silly spinsterish fret-motion, I say shoo but still…
John C. Zacharis Award Ploughshares is pleased to present Doreen Gildroy with the twelfth annual John C. Zacharis First Book Award for her collection of poems, The Little Field of Self (Univ. of Chicago, 2002). The $1,500 award — which is named after Emerson College’s former president — honors the best debut book by a…
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