Review: Eros Rex, poems by Haley Hodges, Orison Books. Brimming over with desire, Haley Hodges’ collection Eros Rex reverberates ‘like the plucked string of a lute’ (‘Innocence’) with stark, sensuous questions about Christliness and control. Hodges’ poems insist upon the reader’s attention in much the same way as the poetic voice demands attention from those … Read more
It’s very possible that Renee Nicole Good reasoned, as I would’ve, that her whiteness would protect her when she put her Honda Pilot, dog in tow, in the path of ICE vehicles on a Minneapolis street less than a mile from where George Floyd’s last words were, just six years before, “I can’t breathe.” Unfortunately … Read more
JACK GILBERT WAS TOO HORNY TO BE A METAPHYSICAL POET not that sex and metaphysics cancel each other out— his was good news for Linda Gregg, until it wasn’t. Interviewer: Did you and Linda ever collaborate? JG: We were intertwined. We read each other’s poetry, appreciated each other’s poetry, discarded each other’s poetry. (Quick shout-out … Read more
And Me Naked for you, beneath some moon somewhere, which sounds like an ending, unless you begin with it. White as a page, as a unicorn’s horn, some skin—all of mine. So stare down—star-down is how I want to lay with you. Come further up. Go further in. Night is falling with us. Night, the … Read more
Confessional poetry has had a haunted reputation from its post-war onset. The literary legacies of Robert Lowell, Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton and W. D. Snodgrass—widely considered ground zero for the entire confessional school—are crucified at least as frequently as they’re praised, and a healthy allergy to what contemporary teachers of writing pertly refer to as … Read more
TEACHER I know I’ve made a christ of you the way I gather up the crumbs beneath your table, the way I bathe your feet with my hair. But this blind worship won’t do, and I must take and eat new prayer. Teacher! It was not given me to sit at your right hand or … Read more
Year of The Restless at the kitchen table, year of our Lord twenty twenty-four, year my words marched backward into my mouth and forward only when forgotten, year of the idiotic Stanley tumbler, year of the subtle but far reaching machinations of neo-Marxism depending on who you ask, year of our lady of fuck around … Read more
No Record of Wrongs Love does keep a record of some things— your solitary walks in Coln Saint Aldwyn’s, a precise curl of Virginia Creeper tendrils, vermillion in autumn, the way you carefully smelled horses’ necks beneath the mane back home, velveteen crushes of cornhusks lashed to lampposts Love notes you’ve yet to find a … Read more
Belshazzar I never knew myself to have a Persian beard, now, This is odd, this will need some explanation So too the crown and concubines and all these Half-drunk vessels from the house of God Isn’t it 2023 or 2022—was I not, just now, Pulling up in a Subaru or whatever it is I Get … Read more
Advent We have endured long in the dark. It is a burden (A magic? A madness?) particular To us. Long endurance of darkness is not light, But speaks of a belief that light’s radiance Merits enduring long in the dim we know— In the dusk we are. The world is a bone Full of Christ-marrow; … Read more