The poetry lesson is that poetry is a practice.
Many young poets can not accept that telling a story, or relating some sort of narrative arc is conducive to the highest aims of poetry.
All acts of observation are partial and reveal as much about the observer as the observed.
Alfred Corn’s play gives us an inner portrait of Robert Lowell that is not found in either the biography or the poetry itself.
Formality, in this case, allows Sleigh to achieve a reflexivity and self-awareness without the cloying injections that deliberately remind the reader of the existence of the poet.
[In His Tree]
The two loves of Kalamaras’s life: Surrealism and Hindu mysticism (with a touch of rhetorical theory!).
[No Real Than You Are]
I always think that a poem “off the page” becomes an “act” of language rather than a poem, a thing made out of words.
When charm works, the connection established between individuals is palpable.
Michael Montlack’s new poem collection Cool Limbo, for starters, looks really cool before it’s even opened.
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