A duppy by default, he was drowned, but he came out of the sea. Never dead, he said, though who would believe him? Life raft, he explained, but his employers-a graying pair, nondescript Anglicans who already spoke of the Will of God to describe his disappearance-now spoke of that same Will to describe his appearance….
When Grandma was dying in the rope bed, no one said much. I had pinworms, used to wake up and hunt for them in the sheets. Dad taught me rummy and chopsticks on the piano. Mom took turns with Aunt Sarah wiping Grandma down. Mostly I wasn’t allowed in but I peeked anyhow, seeing how…
Gary Soto, Junior College, poems: Soto’s new collection is a touching and often hilarious account of his coming of age in Fresno, California, where he was a terrible student, graduating from high school with a D average, then attending Fresno City College with the “easiest of majors,” geography. As always, Soto’s memories of his Chicano…
1. Those Absent Any reasonable baby shower would have properly culminated in the videocorder with the instant playback feature. The present was addressed to The Formerly Thin Addie Ling from her three tactless brothers, and arrived suspiciously wrapped in a brown paper grocery bag. There was no box or warranty card. If the camera was…
Gray cloud like a sweater pulled over the heart of the moon. High-napped purple sky. Why are so many friends Leaving or getting left behind? Mao’s anti-sparrow campaign: to kill and eat the birds That were eating the grain. Winter sun drifts away Leaving thin taffy light. Venus Mercury Jupiter— Three pearls in the morning…
Maura Stanton, Life Among the Trolls, poems: The cool, elegant surfaces of the narratives and lyrics in Stanton’s third collection conceal fiery depths. She penetrates the disguises which cloak the Iago-like figures-friends, bosses, lovers, colleagues-who manipulate our world, and who would like to remake us in their image. (Carnegie-Mellon)
Bobby Bell’s fingers numbered four to a hand. His thumb and pointer were identical to God’s, but the other two were just fleshy stubs, stunted and fused on each slender paw. He was a dumb kid, besides, if progress in school is a fair measure. He sized me up my first week in town, then…
It’s winter in the tiny motel. The man and woman lie down naked and freezing. A blizzard streaming on the television, gloss of ice on the windows, the bourbon a bottle of fire. After love she licks his cold sweat, trying to seal herself into him. Smoke from their cigarettes rising, disappearing as they sink…
Gerald Stern, This Time: New and Selected Poems: In his tenth book, Stern collects many poems, from 1972-1995, that are no longer available in other editions. Those favorite works, along with new poems, including affecting elegies to Larry Levis and Allen Ginsberg, prove why Stern is regarded as one of our masters, a modern Walt…
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