Twin Twin
He resembled me. I held him up to my lips, then threw him into the salty water. He sank to the bottom. I heard a giggle. An invitation to play together. (Translated from the Polish by Piotr Gwiazda)
Jun 2, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Grzegorz Wróblewski
Walt Whitman Is An Insult To Art, Says 22-Year Old Henry James Walt Whitman Is An Insult To Art, Says 22-Year Old Henry James
Drum-Taps is the effort of an essentially prosaic mind to lift itself, by a prolonged muscular strain, into poetry.
Mar 23, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Henry James
The Dream Life of Desire The Dream Life of Desire
Drawing a line between poetry and the political has never been simple.
Mar 23, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Ange Mlinko
Impossible Standards Impossible Standards
The poems and a new biography of James Laughlin tells of his public success as a publisher and his private disappointments.
Mar 4, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Adam Plunkett
Our Words, Our Selves Our Words, Our Selves
Is our language broken and suddenly in need of repair?
Dec 4, 2014 / Books & the Arts / E. Ethelbert Miller
In Our Orbit: Pleasures and Predicaments In Our Orbit: Pleasures and Predicaments
In the poems of Peter Gizzi, the powers of tradition meet and mingle.
Oct 14, 2014 / Books & the Arts / Frances Richard
Transcend and Organize Transcend and Organize
Pier Paolo Pasolini was a force against the incoherence hiding in every hypocrisy.
Oct 7, 2014 / Books & the Arts / Susan Stewart
Poetry and Catastrophe Poetry and Catastrophe
By privileging historical catastrophe, a new poetry anthology narrows the definition of art.
Sep 30, 2014 / Books & the Arts / Benjamin Paloff
Come Explore the Treasure Chest That Is Our 1950 ‘Spring Books’ Issue Come Explore the Treasure Chest That Is Our 1950 ‘Spring Books’ Issue
Meditations on writers’ conferences, Schlesinger Jr. on America, an Auden poem.
May 15, 2014 / Books & the Arts / Richard Kreitner
Mule Mule
The quiet country midnight got quieter. You said, “I hear snow,” and turned on the porch light. Carrot: pillow fight of light out the window. Winters passed. I brought you presents. I kept remembering your magic, hearing the deeper silence. Then one spring you sent everything back. Stick.
Apr 2, 2014 / Books & the Arts / Christina Robb