Contributed By: Katy E. Ellis
Yes, we find the shrine—
dot of island, nothing more.
Dust, relic, and hope.
…
Twin hive houses stand
history brailed in landscape.
Relatives unknown.
…
Mud against bee’s sting,
lip already bulb red taut,
gravel roads wring on.
…
When a door opens
hundreds of people climb stairs—
not the Northern Lights.
…
Legs pedal-tired.
Pour us a pint of shadow,
thirsty to be lost.
Return to table of contents for Issue 7 Summer 2013
Return to table of contents for PRACTICES, POWER & THE PUBLIC SPHERE Return to table of contents for Issue 2 Winter 2010
I agree with Kent Johnson when he suggests the following about the sociology of contemporary poetry reviewing: Reviewing tends to be done by poets, and poets use the mode of criticism, more often than not, as a form of ingratiation with their associates. As U.S. poetry (mainstream and post-avant) has become more tightly tethered to academic […]
Debates over negative reviewing aren’t unique to poetry. Every few years a fiction writer attacks reviewers or (more often) a reviewer attacks fiction writers, and an arm-flailing ruckus ensues in which many letters to the editor are dispatched and much Pabst Blue Ribbon is spilled in indignation. It’s a ritual as reliable as the start […]
