Late December in Abidjan Late December in Abidjan
The city, awake and brooding, is its own thing. I walk along Abobo, on the road everything leads to God, even the air. I watch men spread prayer mats, each of them full of c…
Jun 7, 2022 / Poems / Romeo Oriogun
Snow Maze Snow Maze
Everything feels cold I’d love a little warmth But I am stuck out here While they warm themselves By the fireplace or by the fire They have no bones And are completely ash I…
May 24, 2022 / Poems / Dorothea Lasky
the poet defends his right to a future and demands its immediate redistribution the poet defends his right to a future and demands its immediate redistribution
the right to be stone if you take the snow to the caribbean sea, it melts. if you destroy capital’s temperaments, we return. you can’t concoct water, only its forms. to interrupt t…
May 24, 2022 / Poems / Raquel Salas Rivera
Currency Communion Currency Communion
the first time i ever read the word God was on a piece of money We The People every time i dug in my denims i was uprooting evil * i can make any color out of concrete if yo…
May 17, 2022 / Poems / Eduardo “Echo” Martinez
John Keene’s Poetry of Others John Keene’s Poetry of Others
In Punks, the self is never static and cannot exist outside its relationships to others.
May 2, 2022 / Books & the Arts / Ken Chen
The Sublime Ironies of John Ashbery The Sublime Ironies of John Ashbery
Does his first posthumous collection, Parallel Movement of the Hands, help answer the riddle of his poetic project?
Jan 27, 2022 / Books & the Arts / Ryan Ruby
Toward Bakersfield Toward Bakersfield
I Because the road comes without calling it, head low like it doesn’t want trouble but really does, and the bright cars, with faces like their owners, want to witness that trouble,…
Jan 18, 2022 / Poems / Brendan Constantine
Lessons From Louise Glück Lessons From Louise Glück
A conversation with the poet and Nobel laureate about her career, teaching, her next book, and more.
Jan 18, 2022 / Books & the Arts / Sam Huber
Natalie Eilbert, by User 4357 Natalie Eilbert, by User 4357
There’s there there. A sweet empty vacuum bag smells of industry, its provenance. I try a xylophone note, a sound like burnt yellow. Approximations don’t mimic; they stand i…
Jan 13, 2022 / Poems / Natalie Eilbert
Letter to June Jordan in September Letter to June Jordan in September
I cannot pass the anniversary of that first news event of childhood without returning to your poem. How from my house I watched. And watching, watched my grief-stricken pare…
Jan 11, 2022 / Poems / Lena Khalaf Tuffaha