The poems of Cody-Rose Clevidence are shot through with a sense of nature’s vitality and with the possibility that the numinous, even the divine, may inhere in that nature.
Contemporary politically committed poets have made a cottage industry of agonizing over the question of whether their Leftist bona fides actually make any difference.
David Hadbawnik and Anne Carson aren’t aiming to produce new schoolroom translations of the classics; they’ve reimagined these ancient texts in the light of our violent and chaotic contemporaneity.
Jack Spicer’s poetry can be deeply funny and playful but it has a consistent undercurrent of sadness.
Poets Shara McCallum and Karen Solie channel Scotland through historical fiction and the deep-seated malaise of modernity.
Ed Roberson’s motorcycle ride from Pittsburgh to the Pacific is a quest-romance, an exploration of American culture and American mythology.
Some 600 years later, Margery Kempe’s disquieting sobs continue to confound and provoke.
Ellen Dillon’s verdict on Mallarmé’s pedagogical text? Pretty shaky.
British poetry is really as energetic and varied as its American counterpart.
The poems in Ken Babstock’s Swivelmount convey a sense that the whole truth of reality is tantalizingly just beyond one’s grasp.
Kearney’s language — exquisitely torqued and modulated, sheering from the formal to the vernacular — reminds us that we are in the hands of a masterful performer.
The poems in Jean Day’s Late Human carry a sense of having arrived at a moment when nothing feels quite right.