‘cut a piece from a lip and put in a secret place’ – New poetry translated from the Icelandic by Vala Thorodds.
‘a man caught my eye as I was about to cross the road / and asked to shake my hand. You have a kind face, he said.’
‘It’s dangerous like a very powerful doorbell. / Or a portrait covered with a blanket.’
‘In my crumbling country every day, / people spend their lives standing in lines / to buy designer sneakers.’
‘Imagine all the prodigal / People, hoping only to / Escape every human mistake.’
‘She is luscious / and plump like marshmallow; part edible baby, / part nosy neighbour.’
‘even more it was a wish for boundless spaces, a wish for the inexpressibly wide and broad, for the unharnessing of human life’ – New poetry by Sharmistha Mohanty.
‘the earth will heal / eventually / magnificently / when our species / is gone’
There Is No Light of the World But the World
‘The mountain rises and sleeps backward / into a cloud-captured sun’
Best Book of 1996: The Lost Lunar Baedeker
‘Mina Loy has been a preferred voice in my head, echoing with a signature delirious chant as a kind of primordial poetry mother.’
‘By the dog the minced oaths, / the god-wounds, the solemnly / declared chronical maladies.’
‘Our nation is a spell of nerves and gas. We say yes to monsters, to elegies etched in our palms.’ Translated by Daniel Canty.
Wallace Stevens’s Memory
‘It was / a line that signaled absolute forgetting / and it made me want to weep into my drink’
A Sharing Economy
‘The Paying Guest rises in the middle of the night / to turn off the radio where no radio exists’
The Blue Clerk
‘Now you are sounding like me, the clerk says. I am you, the author says.’
Song for Goliath
‘I see them as a needlepoint sampler, / flowing script that reads: everyone suffers.’
After Ann Lauterbach
‘The piano eyes me / from its corner – / colluding with the past’
Assuming the Habits of the Day and Night
‘my every day is a being in of being / a mixity of worlds’
‘here we come / with our living // fruit baskets and / soon to wilt white flowers’
The Republic of Motherhood
‘a cardigan / soft as a creature, smelling of birth and milk’ – New poetry from Liz Berry.
‘I’m too tired she said / to be this happy / & we laughed without / moving our hands’
‘I haven’t learned very much in my life, I’ve just become a more / Choreographed disaster’
‘May it not be / that they owe their fleshiness / to the cumulative effect?’