British poetry is really as energetic and varied as its American counterpart.
Memories appear and disappear in a meditative work that feels as if it could stop at any moment or continue on forever.
The poems in Ken Babstock’s Swivelmount convey a sense that the whole truth of reality is tantalizingly just beyond one’s grasp.
Tarn’s meditation on the German Romantic poet Friedrich Hölderlin explores both human ecstasy and suffering.
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.
in this house black boys blossom
black boys bloom
Andrew Levy’s poems explore contemporary life with globe-spanning sweep and intensive probing.
“The Poem is Telling Me I Remember” features collaborative poetry from the Oakland studio and gallery for artists with developmental disabilities.
The poet suggests his art’s highest calling isn’t truth-telling but stirring our empathic imagination.
The poems in Jean Day’s Late Human carry a sense of having arrived at a moment when nothing feels quite right.
Ungaretti should be numbered among the ranks of such Great War poets as Wilfred Owen, Siegfried Sassoon, and Isaac Rosenberg.
The linguistic imagination of William Fuller’s new collection, Daybreak, takes the form of sustained odysseys between philosophical abstraction and the everyday concrete.