Blogs
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Rumpus Original Fiction: The Night of in Tangas
The problem for my father was the same. He had no money to buy confetti and to top everything off he now owed the price of two corundas.
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Rumpus Original Fiction: You Are One of Them
Everyone here is new. Everyone has run away from somewhere.
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Rumpus Original Poetry: Three Poems by Rooja Mohassessy
My love, I signed / what papers they put before me. / The next morning a breeze / swept in across the bar. I watched it lean / the white sails toward starboard / and lift your heavy ashes / into the…
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From the Archive: Rumpus Original Fiction: An Other Man
This is a carousel that never slows to a point where you can board gracefully.
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ENOUGH: Raag Marwa
To wake to the sound of Marwa seeping through the bowl of a sarod / That rests over the limbs of a woman in the balcony—or not. / To follow the melody across rooms, beyond the descending sun, /. Into the kitchen—or not. A call…
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Rumpus Original Poetry: Three Poems by Sean Cho A.
sun bears are the smallest bear species / the 2nd smallest bear species is / not the moon bear although they are / relatively small when compared / to other bears such as polar bears
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Rumpus Original Fiction: When Will You Arrive?
We do not have lovers, if so there would not be need to reply or congregate to these stupid events, because the language of two people together is the exclusionary body of themselves. In the absence of a body, we…
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RUMPUS POETRY BOOK CLUB EXCERPT: DISPATCHES FROM A FUTURE GREAT-GREAT-GRANDDAUGHTER BY FRANNY CHOI
An excerpt from The Rumpus Poetry Book Club’s November selection, The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On by Franny Choi
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Escaping the Infinite: An Omnibus Review of Four Contemporary Works of Poetry
So everything should be very clear.
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Rumpus Original Fiction: Black Bottom Swamp Bottle Woman
. . . maybe they believe labeling and understanding mean the same thing . . .
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Rumpus Original Fiction: To Go
Love can feel muddled, vast, diffuse; so little to do with the singular volatility of a firework. I hunger for that kind of crystalline precision, though. That clarity. To scream myself across the sky just once—consuming everything in my wake—and…
