Poetry
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“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
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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 we’re very excited to be able to talk with both…
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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.
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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.
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“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 babies.
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My Affairs Are Just My Questions
And it is a voice—perhaps a bit apprehensive and damaged by experience—that seems willing to express it all, even the ugly and cruel.
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Poem Forest
“Urban planners, artists, and citizens around the world must open poetic space within increasingly cramped, increasingly bottom-line-driven cities. Our political animalness gets claustrophobic. We require the commons to encounter each other and the physical landscape.” Poem Forest involved participants reciting…
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“Newspoet” Kick-off
NPR’s All Things Considered is starting a monthly project that brings poets into the newsroom before unleashing them to write a poem “reflecting on the day’s news.” Their inaugural poet is Rumpus Poetry Book Club author Tracy K. Smith. You…
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An Angel Pricked With Breathing Holes
Goldbarth still infuses his poems with an old-fashioned, childlike wonder at the marvels of our world, along with a bemused chuckle at the ways in which we so obviously fall short of our lofty goals.
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You Simply Die of Want
The poems are themselves stealthy, hiding but then eventually revealing themselves to the writers. Or the stealth writers, both Seaton and Ace autonomous and authentic somewhere in that collaborative voice.