In At the Kinnegad Home for the Bewildered, Levine begins his cinematic collection with the lifeblood line of the book in the second poem: “we know there is something more.” As he shifts in and out of the domestic and the divine in his poems, we feel a deep longing for kinship and connect with a speaker who is unabashed in his belief in what isn’t wholly known. Sometimes, we are located within a piece of art, and at other times, we are right in the middle of a myth or standing there, cooking in his kitchen.
All day I watch boats from the living room window. I do other things, of course, but I always come back to the boats—yachts, skiffs, catamarans. Occasionally, there’s even a dinghy, white or blue, with a small figure aboard, paddling madly.
I used to think there could be nothing lonelier than boating, but these days, I have reconsidered.
But I did saw it, and that’s me. I’m seeing all kinds of things these days. You know, The Muffin Man, for example. Saw The Muffin Man yesterday, at the car wash.
Last spring, GMR celebrated its first twenty-five years with a 400-page poetry retrospective compiled by Founding Editor Neil Shepard. This was also Neil's last issue before stepping down as Senior Editor. To read through this anniversary issue is to marvel at the...
All the parts are in the right places, and they hum industriously as you make your way from page to page.
I’m the green bird staring at your naked morning ass through the window. I think I want to learn Japanese. It’ll help me understand this scenario. I want to learn more about recycling. Then I’ll learn even more about the value of useless things.
Poetry had the feeling that they’d always been holding hands, that they sometimes forgot. Prose had the feeling that when they forgot they forgot on purpose. These feelings they had, they had them, then they had some others.
He stood outside the fitness center and watched the women work out in gym suits and leotards that reminded him of sitcoms from the Seventies. There were many fitness centers in the city where he sometimes worked, but this was the one he stopped at. He watched the men,...
Julie Choffel’s The Hello Delay reads very much like “a cautionary tale” for our current age, one that both warns against and seeks out the anxiety that comes with living in the year 2012.