Poetry

Recommendation: David Blair’s poems come out of what Greil Marcus once called “the old weird America” (still very much with us, underneath the fog of coiffed media blondes and politics-as-spam). His citizens are at play in a long-running tragicomedy. I like how the poems imply that the slightest quirks of a person’s character govern the…

Recommendation: One of the things I admire about Tanya Larkin’s work is how perfectly accessible it is, while at the same time lush with invention, music, obliquity, and all the other thrills we’ve come to recognize as visionary writing. The occasion in her poems is often an exact place which has the odd property of…

Recommendation: I endorse with great enthusiasm the poems of Jaswinder Bolina. I firmly believe he is a poet whom we will be hearing about in the not-too-distant future. The foundations of his work are complex, and I will attempt to lay them out here. Clearly, one would deduce from reading these poems, here is someone…

Recommendation: Jay Leeming is the most brilliant of the younger poets that I have read lately. He is a high-stepper, and he risks a lot with each brief line. He is not one of those who puts down the name of his laundromat and everything that has happened to him since he was six years…

Recommendation: Jennifer Boyden’s poetry is haunting, empowered by a crisp but lyrical language. It’s quietly thoughtful and emotionally engaging. —Nance Van Winckel, author of four books of poetry and three short story collections. She teaches in the graduate creative writing programs of Vermont College and Eastern Washington University. They wrote it all down for me….

Recommendation: In commenting about her own work, Teresa Leo cites Louise Gluck’s line, “All my life I have worshipped the wrong gods,” and goes on to say that her poems explore a similar revelation: what happens when one is drawn, for whatever reason, to the wrong partner. They chronicle the relationships that move from agency…

Eight years later the woman is given a house for five months at the edge of town in the desert. It’s August and the desert is green. When rain falls, she drives beyond the dark clouds. Past an antelope resting, legs under it, head raised, white marks. Drives slowly around a turtle. If the man…

was next week with a garden in it, next winter with the glow of the unborn. My back up against the mountain, face to the snowy field,—glassy branches of the apple tree. If there was a mistake somewhere I didn’t know it, I only knew the deodar choked on sky,—despite the rumor of unaltered roots….

Pain thinks of the sea the blackened fields the shore without daylight Pain thinks of the hour’s fires without witness the horses breaking & the sea breaking Pain thinks of the fields the tide rising in light’s black zone without body or breath Pain thinks of the sea without witness Pain thinks of Alcibiades