Red Doc> by Anne Carson
Camden Avery reviews Anne Carson’s Red Doc> today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreCamden Avery reviews Anne Carson’s Red Doc> today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreKent Shaw reviews Mary Szybist’s Incarnadine today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreDavid Peak reviews Kirill Medvedev’s It’s No Good today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreAndrew Field reviews Jon Woodward’s Uncanny Valley today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreMaya Popa reviews Averill Curdy’s Song and Error today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreVirginia Konchan reviews Phil Metres’ abu ghraib arias today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreBarbara Berman reviews Bright Wings An Illustrated Anthology of Poems About Birds edited by Billy Collins today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreJulie Marie Wade reviews Bruce Beasley’s Theophobia today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreMarisa Siegel reviews Peter Covino’s The Right Place to Jump today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreKristina Marie Darling reviews Nick Ripatrazone’s This is Not About Birds today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreTory Adkisson reviews Zubair Ahmed’s City of Rivers today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreJulie Marie Wade reviews Richard Blanco’s Looking For the Gulf Motel today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreJeff Alessandrelli reviews Dobby Gibson’s It Becomes You today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreWhat is particularly crucial to understand is that books were not dragged kicking and screaming into each new area of capitalism. Books not only are part and parcel of consumer capitalism, they virtually began it.
In an essay for the Virginia Quarterly Review, former head of Soft Skull Press Richard Nash explores the business of literature with an almost alarming degree of thoroughness.
...moreTrista Edwards reviews Paisley Rekdal’s Animal Eye today in Rumpus Poetry.
...moreGina Myers reviews Maged Zaher’s Thank You For the Window Office today in Rumpus Books.
...moreAt their best, love and translation share some contradictions, including selfishness and generosity. Translation is impossible, or at least not very good, without a passionate desire to own the material and leave one’s mark on it. At the same time, few translators want to “hide the light” of their translations “under a bushel.” The translations they undertake and complete belong to them, are marked by them, and yet they are without much value unless shared.
...moreThe Moon & Other Inventions: Poems After Joseph Cornell is a fully enchanting if somewhat mysterious collection of poems, written entirely as footnotes, by the prolific Kristina Marie Darling. Although the book’s subtitle suggests Cornell as its primary subject matter, these poems are inspired by Cornell’s use of assemblage rather than derived from or driven by it.
...moreThe subjects in Rebecca Hazelton’s debut collection, Fair Copy, are unmistakably specimens: alien creatures teeming under glass—animated, cellular, breathing. This isn’t surprising when you consider each poem was born from the first line of every twenty-ninth poem in Emily Dickinson’s Complete Works, a conceit born out of the poet’s kinship with the number (she was twenty-nine when she first composed these poems) and the poet.
...moreWinning just about every national poetry slam competition there is, Sierra DeMulder’s words and poetic swagger have won untouchable real estate in my bookshelf. DeMulder’s newest book, New Shoes on a Dead Horse re-defines confessional poetry; in fact, it pushes it aside and claims there is more to each and every picture.
...moreThe Word on the Street is not Pulitzer Prize winner Paul Muldoon’s first work of writing for music. He wrote librettos for four Daren Hagen operas; Shining Bow, Vera of Las Vegas, Bandanna, and The Ancient Concert and worked in rock ‘n’ roll, writing for The Handsome Family, collaborating with Warren Zevon, and playing in and writing for two other bands; Rackett and The Wayside Shrines.
...moreCynthia Marie Hoffman’s excellent debut poetry collection, Sightseer, is part travelogue, part epistle, and part reclamation of the very idea of tourism. The winner of the Lexi Rudnitsky First Book Prize, Sightseer briskly circles the globe, from Provincetown to Russia to Ireland to Poland, in poems that address the various onion-domed cathedrals, seventh-century castles, and oyster-laden beaches that the speaker encounters along the way.
...moreThe experience of reading Ben Mirov’s new book of poetry,Hider Roser, is like what the experience of being alone inside of someone else’s head might be like: it’s a place where one encounters fragments of dreams, splintered selves, and half-thoughts, along with books, authors, memories, and other detritus that makes up a life.
...moreAnne Champion’s dazzling first book of poetry, Reluctant Mistress, offers readers a thought-provoking revision of the love lyric, rendering this rich literary tradition relevant to a postmodern cultural landscape. While invoking couplets, tercets, and other vestiges of her artistic heritage, Champion’s poems interrogate the power relations implicit in traditional love poetry, redefining their terms with subtlety and grace.
...moreWriters might be interested in yesterday’s installment of Dinosaur Comics, about the development of books through history.
If talking clip-art dinosaurs can’t figure it out, what hope do the rest of us have?
...morePirates plunder. Pirates navigate by wit and savvy and force. They intercept us somewhere between where we were and where we think we are going to end up. They are the enemies of intention. Where we might ask, Where is life taking me?
...moreDark Elderberry Branch is a collaboration between two living poets and one who is dead but fully present. Ilya Kaminsky was born in Odessa (former Soviet Union, in the Ukraine), learning English at the age of 16 when his family immigrated to the United States.
...moreYou’re a reasonable reader. You like the aesthetics of an old-fashioned paper-and-glue book, but you’re not averse to turning the virtual pages of an e-reader either.
If that description sounds like you, here’s a DIY project you might like: making an old book into a Kindle case.
...moreWhen I was young and soft and I couldn’t fall asleep at night, I’d just lie there in bed, swallowing lumps of dread whose shape and taste I had no way of understanding. To stop my mind from its looping grind, I’d count as high as I could before the numbers lost their meaning, morphing into endless strings of code.
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