‘how can all the pressures of surveillance / fail to describe me?’
‘Me always untorn and enslaved / Weird notions of gender and ground / Nothing but you between me and god.’
‘I haven’t learned very much in my life, I’ve just become a more / Choreographed disaster’
Fourth Person Singular
‘The wet in the air is like signal anxiety: life is about to / change.’
‘Wanting to get it all in, like / Xerxes tipping his army’s arrows / with saltpeter / so to ignite the Grecian sky.’
The Emotional Life of Plants
An exciton consists / of the escaped negative / (electron) / and the positive hole / it left behind.
Reception and Openings
‘Because children suspect that objects conceal their powers and intentions, animators make an alarm clock run, screaming, in circles.’
‘Your dad told me to tell you / how good you look to him right now.’ Rae Armantrout revisits Shakespeare’s sonnet 3.
‘Music needs silence / more than silence needs music.’ New poetry by Rae Armantrout.
The Making of the English Landscape
It’s too late now to start collecting football shirts,/bringing them back from trips abroad as souvenirs:
Midnight on Lake Michigan
‘But really, your disappearance / has never been a question of whether.’
‘Her mother planted a garden in Manhattan. / In that garden is a tree. Some look on it and feel restored. / Others, when the wind lifts its leaves, want to scream.’
A Numbered Graph That Shows How Each Part of the Body Would Fit Into A Chair
‘It’s a simple truth that one can occupy two / places at one time while sitting in a chair—the same way a / poseable doll can be divided from her dress.’
‘I head down the path hoping she’ll come / but when I look back she’s gone and my own voice / snags at her name like barbed wire on skin.’
‘What would I give / to be one of those swimmers in all this snow, / swallowed by the cold and the night’s strange radiance?’
‘Sometimes I am so afraid my envy / will hack at your figs, strawberries, / or full-bellied beans, I dig my fists / into my pockets and nip myself.’
Drama Lessons for Young Girls
‘So the young girls, / cast as naughty young girls from the Acropolis, / left – / just with some things missing.’
The Old Fuel
‘And I'm / cranking out oodles of love the way an old spaghetti machine / cranks out spaghetti.’
‘Watching the sea is like watching something in pieces continually striving to be whole / Imagine trying to pick up a piece of the sea and show it to a person / I tried to do that.’
The Remains of the Day
‘I am lying in the foetal position on a beach in the east of England.’
The Republic of Motherhood
‘a cardigan / soft as a creature, smelling of birth and milk’ – New poetry from Liz Berry.
‘I can only do what is here. But you / Have an entire congregation of choice’
One sprig should do, in a wayfarer’s satchel, to assist in losing all bearings until...
‘To be honest, this is dark stuff; mud, tang / of bitter battery-tasting honey. The woods are in it.’
A Pinch of Salt
‘When we’re close to weaning / ourselves history gives us its reasons / to return’
'the trees / are slender in the way that things / are almost, though not quite / absent'
Self-Portrait as Amnesiac
‘Shoeboxes lined with eggs and empty / pomegranates drying in a bowl, / mousebones and wicker, chess pieces, muddled coats.’
The Day Etta Died
‘I was marking a stack of essays / on Frank O’Hara / and each had a Wiki- / paragraph to say / who Genet was.’