poetry
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“In the Pink,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Maureen Thorson
In the Pink I walk the beach by the Tickle Inn and I know that breakups suck.
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Thumbs In, Fingers Splayed
Throughout the collection, the speaker in these poems is constantly aware of this contradiction, the intersection between life and art, perhaps frighteningly so, seeking solace in “these few things left,” trying to reconcile, like any reasonable artist, the internal with…
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Trees Are Blooming Into Bright Lightbulbs
Schomburg’s newest book, Fjords, Vol. 1 holds true to this idea of finding familiarity in a parallel consciousness. Just because the poems often work in a seemingly private dreamscape, doesn’t mean you aren’t invited to into the strangeness, asked to…
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The Whole Vortex of Home
[Peter] Gizzi’s particular gift is to posit that shifting location where senses meet the terrible and the sublime, where political portent or its brittle actualities announce themselves in various configurations.
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We’ll Call Them Contact Zones
Based in research of museum design, and memorialization, Slot’s narrator moves inside public landmarks dedicated to various disasters—9/11, slavery, Hiroshima, the Holocaust— and explores ways memorialization acts on conscience and memory, interrogating the urge to abstract, label, and catalogue suffering.
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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.
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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.
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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 humane side of almost every contemporary issue.
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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 mind-altering chemicals in the run-off from Nowa Huta, the notoriously…
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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 in one place instead of all others, what it means…
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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…