RUMPUS POETRY BOOK CLUB EXCERPT: GARDEN by Gabrielle Bates
An excerpt from The Rumpus Poetry Book Club's January selection, JUDAS GOAT by Gabrielle Bates forthcoming from Tin House Books on January 24, 2023
Rumpus Original
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American Mothers are Screaming: A conversation with Jessica Grose
I think people want more unstressed time with their kids. I think so much of the time we are spending with our kids we are exhausted, and we have all this other stuff on our minds that’s mentally draining, physically draining. But the answer is not always more childcare.
Space to Breathe
We inhale when we’re born, then breathe and breathe and breathe until one day we exhale our final breath.
The Art of Attention: Jill Christman’s If This Were Fiction: A Love Story in Essays
“If you really want to look at someone, then your only option is to look at yourself, squarely and deeply.”
Boys and Oil: Taylor Brorby on Making Space for Queer Stories on the Great Plains
I developed two books. One I called “The Gay Book,” and one I called “The North Dakota Book.” Well, those are the same book, as you can imagine.
Voices on Addiction: Whatever Fatal Thing
D— was dreamy in the precise manner of Neil Young circa 1974. Long, dark hair; green eyes; great butt; nice smile. He was sweet, funny, just tall enough. Wore a…
Threats of Violence: Discussing Pain, Form, and Cinema du Corps with Author Stephanie LaCava
There is a hyper self-awareness in all my work that acknowledges—teases itself, maybe—what it is addressing and from what entry point. I once modeled in a campaign for socks I designed for a skate label and on the box there was a small excerpt from one of my books.
The Last Book
The poet goes to the supermarket for peanut butter. The poet cleans the toilet. The poet responds to emails.
When Writing about Pain is Political: In Sensorium by Tanaïs
In In Sensorium . . . Tanaïs inhabits their pain fully and seeks new ways to describe and transcend it through scent, rather than just words.
From the Archive: Rumpus Original Fiction: Mr. Burley
My favorite was usually the smallest, the most alive.