Poetry
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Rumpus Original Poetry: Three Poems by Fady Joudah
The bees would not miss us if the entire neighborhood went missing. / The reverse isn’t true. The mind goes to self // as the self comes to mind. / The mind tells the self, I made you, / and the self…
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Twenty-five Years Unbound: Reading a Book of AIDS
The range of prepositions used here in writing about how to write AIDS is indicative of the range of questions encompassed by the book, the range of the “brutal presence” of the disease.
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Rumpus Original Poetry: Two Poems by J Brooke
I drew a house / I drew a house with a tire swing / I drew a house with a tire swing and deep green grass / I drew a house with a tire swing and deep green grass and…
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Confession of Grief: Katie Marya’s Sugar Work
Marya’s work is a slow burn; both sweet and salty, that picks up speed and ferocity as it unfolds.
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RUMPUS POETRY BOOK CLUB EXCERPT: Dream in Which You Cuff Me to the Bed by Dr. Taylor Byas
Our August 2023 Rumpus Poetry Book Club selection is Dr. Taylor Byas‘s, I Done Clicked My Heels Three Times, which takes its inspiration and concept from the cult classic film The Wiz to explore a Black woman’s journey out of…
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Rumpus Original Poetry: Two Poems by Christine Kwon
I’m a poet, I say, finally, / throwing up my hands, / but she just sits there with this look.
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The Fragile Ecology of Teenage Boyhood in Shy: A Conversation with Max Porter
We have to be urgent and radical in our belief that some solutions exist . . .
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Rumpus Original Poetry: Three Poems by E. Hughes
I want to fashion my black mouth to speak this / journey of our bodies into utterance: What / does one call this road between us?
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The Poem as an Archive of Your Life and the World Around You: The Rumpus Interview with Clint Smith
. . . intellectual rigor or artistic integrity don’t have to come at the expense of legibility . . .
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Rumpus Original Poetry: Three Poems by Winshen Liu
Grief is the Easter Moon lily that blooms in / an empty room. It is not the canyon / glowing, like the inside of a persimmon torn / open by thumbs, but all of the hours, and / only ever…
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From the Archives: “After the Plantation Fire,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Traci Brimhall
I’ve made the choice // between brushing flies from a child’s eyes or digging / a grave deeper. It’s easier than you’d think.
