I Kid You Not the Rush Is Good
Be ready for thresholds, light and dark—in both natural and fluorescent hues—and for getting high.
Poetry
2326 posts
Why I Chose D. A. Powell’s Useless Landscape or A Guide for Boys for the Rumpus Poetry Book Club
Rumpus Poetry Editor Brian Spears on why he selected D. A. Powell’s Useless Landscape or A Guide for Boys for the Rumpus Poetry Book Club in February.
Twin Cities by Carol Muske Dukes
Muske-Dukes's book seems the perfect read for this time of year when the year is winding down, yet life is still rumbling forward.
They Sing Wild Songs In New Keys
Marge Piercy’s unflinching clarity of vision continues to be the kind of sturdy example so vital to literature. She has long been teaching and in the public arena, on the…
Ode to an Era of Polish Poetry
At The New Republic, Ruth Franklin celebrates the work of the late Wislawa Szymborska, and explores the brilliance of Polish poetry throughout the last half-century. “Assuming that there weren’t any…
A Halfway House Where No One Leaves
In three very different but equally gorgeous sections, Griffith guides us through every poetic form from sonnet to villanelle, all while examining the idea of what it means to be…
“Disappearing,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Rob Griffith
Disappearing I’d like to cap this pen, lock the drawers, and take my coat off the chair. I’d stop the clocks at half-past two, then grab my keys
The Rumpus Poetry Book Club Announces…
A lot, really. First of all, we’re about to chat with Aase Berg and Johannes Gorannson about Berg’s book Transfer Fat It’s the first time we’ve done a translation, and…
Decades of Nothing Between
These poems are often about the strange, complex and imperfect mapping of nature—human and wild—onto our 21st century lives.
My Fruit Bat, My Gewgaw
These poems are about unintentional association, the ways our minds wander even when — especially when? — they’re trying to wrap themselves around a given idea.
“Thousands are gathered outside the interior ministry…” a Rumpus Original Poem by Dora Malech
“Thousands are gathered outside the interior ministry…” Bloody lullabies soothe the centuries. Can’t see the cradles for the tops of trees but you know the rest: you can’t rest, poor…