Paul Celan’s truest homeland, paradoxically, was the German language — the language of the Nazis who imprisoned him in a forced labor camp and murdered his parents.
Language caresses the tongue.
Maria Dahvana Headley’s breathtakingly audacious and idiomatically rich Beowulf: A New Translation is a breath of iconoclastically fresh air blowing through the old tale’s stuffy mead-hall atmosphere.
Durand’s urban environment in The Prospect is a source not of solace but of anxiety.
The beauty and power of Valéry’s best writing is undeniable, and the human dilemmas his work addresses remain with us.
The latest poetry collections by Lawrence Giffin and Lesle Lewis use the vocabulary of visual arts to extend poetry’s reach.
Throughout her work and in her latest volume, Concordance, Howe confronts the plight of the female writer in a masculine literary culture.
In their latest volumes, poets Youmna Chlala and Chris Nealon confront the notion of home and the emotional challenges of our own tentative, pre- or post-apocalyptic moment.
While despondency and madness appear aplenty in Sean Bonney’s writing, its keynote is pure, hard rage.
I love discovering new voices, but there’s much to be said for following poets over the course of their careers, watching their styles evolve, their attentions shift.
Ruskin was captivated with more than just art and architecture. He wrote at some length on geology, mythology, crystallography, ornithology, herpetology — and who knows what else.
Will rock music ever be able entirely to extricate itself from a profoundly gendered symbolism?