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NOTE: This is the third in a series of posts by Colie Hoffman about her experience while a writer-in-residence at Sangam House, India. When I was in grad school, my friend Dave and I used to lift weights at the gym. The undergrad demographics at our university skewed largely male, so naturally, the weight room was populated almost exclusively by beefy, college-age boys. I was usually the only woman there, and Dave, a compact, physically efficient-looking sort of guy no taller than 5’7,” was the only man his size. Technically, we went together so we could help each other work out—but really, we went together for mutual protection. Alone, we’d get stared at. Together, neither of us had to be the only one getting stared at. Or, maybe it felt safer to [...]

Morgan Parker describes herself as equipped with the eyes of a surrealist, ears of an ethnographer, tongue of a cynical comedian, and heart of a brooding sixteen-year old.

My first memory of my father is: "Hurled headlong flaming!"

[Epithalamium with Rust]

Yahia Lababidi remembers late nights in his dorm room at George Washington University, tossing in bed as the voices of Wilde, Rilke and Kafka reverberated around him.

I don't usually have an idea in mind when I begin to write.

Grammar can be a brutal, brutal thing.

Sarah Schweig, neighbor to airfields, estrangement, mythology, imagination, opens up about how she came to be a poet of departures. Pardon my inability to pronounce Catullus.

Nobody else contemporary or comparable to the young Rachel B. Glaser writes as epiphanic structures as these or plays with the purpose and effect of fiction with such verve

[He’s like those children who take apart a clock in order to find out what time is]

idea

An idea for a poem is always a competing poem.

faginlong

Simone Kearney paints the poet Larry Fagin. Also read a poem by Fagin.

Back Camera

Ephemeral, almost spirit-like, this book can be read in under 15 minutes if one rushes or pondered for days and cannot be fully appreciated on a Kindle or as a pdf.

He’s just a west-coast boy, living in New York City, he took the express train to where good poems reside.

Mary Karr and Christopher Robinson discuss Thomas Lux's poem "Tarantulas on the Lifebuoy."

[Symptoms of Island]