This sort of collection enumerates the best that poetry can be: a tool, a song, a gesture towards empathy, an enactment of living a life that continues to baffle.
This sort of collection enumerates the best that poetry can be: a tool, a song, a gesture towards empathy, an enactment of living a life that continues to baffle.
Artists can be canaries flying down into mines or diving underwater.
Ekphrasis Hybrid: A Review of Harriet Levin’s “My Oceanography” Read More »
Artists can be canaries flying down into mines or diving underwater.
“What are we going to do with all those cats?”
Gravity and Waggery: A Review of Bohumil Hrabal’s “All My Cats” Read More »
“What are we going to do with all those cats?”
Sometimes when language is song-like and rhythmic, it’s because it’s coming from a core part of yourself that’s not interested in façade. It’s an inner layer. Like a hum, a vibrational hum in the throat
Sacred Service: A Review of “Without Protection” & a Conversation with Gala Mukomolova Read More »
Sometimes when language is song-like and rhythmic, it’s because it’s coming from a core part of yourself that’s not interested in façade. It’s an inner layer. Like a hum, a vibrational hum in the throat
she stood there, smelling sweetly of sweat, shawarma, lipstick, the several different perfumes she’d quickly sprayed on herself at Sephora, hair spray, and hot love, with its intrinsic note, it so happens, of urine.
Performing Friendship: A Review of “Honey I Killed the Cats” Read More »
she stood there, smelling sweetly of sweat, shawarma, lipstick, the several different perfumes she’d quickly sprayed on herself at Sephora, hair spray, and hot love, with its intrinsic note, it so happens, of urine.
