In “Body of Render,” Felicia Zamora cleverly employs mini-prose poems and collage-like fragmentation, similar to previous collections, but what makes this book stand out is her attention to the current American political landscape as well as race in the era of Trump.
If poetry is inclined to seal itself like a closet, if it embraces ellipsis, elision, mystery, even subterfuge, the poet seems in Knorr’s formulation to be its counterforce, creating new worlds and opportunities for insight and discovery. Ballast, with grace and intelligence, inquires into scenes of love and intimacy, the precarity of the body and environment, and the tensile relationship between constraint and creativity.
or, rather, we see his shoes poking out
from beneath the yellow tarp someone—a police officer—
has hastily thrown over his body. Never never never
have I see such expressive shoes,
A moose is not an elegant creature. Though powerful, those thick hindquarters, jug head, and humped back don’t arouse the same awe a mountain lion’s sleek muscles inspire. Moose legs, long and fine-boned as those of a racehorse, just look like matchsticks poking from a matchbox body. They don’t suggest freedom, or swift escape.
Have you ever wanted to be a detective? Well, now is your chance! Read each mystery very carefully: there are clues cleverly hidden where you least expect them!
After a quick moment catching his breath, my son asks, “How much would it cost to live here?”
Cynthia Huntington’s most recent book of poetry, HEAVENLY BODIES (Crab Orchard Poetry Series, 2012), was a finalist for the National Book Award in Poetry. She teaches English and Creative Writing at Dartmouth College and lives just across the river in Vermont.
Told in rhythmic, sometimes drunken party language, and woven around the physical place of New Jersey, the poems catch the reader in a whirlwind of sound, beauty, grief and nostalgia. . . . AMERICAN RHAPSODY is a fun collection, one that transports the reader back to a time in this country that sounds as foreign to us as it does familiar.
I consider you as I lay bleeding. The bullet passed through my chest beneath the collar bone, clean, but must have nicked something on the way because a little crook of bone is jutting out the exit wound and I can’t help myself from touching it with the tip of my finger.
Steve Langan is the author of Meet Me at the Happy Bar, Notes on Exile and Other Poems, and Freezing. He lives in Omaha and on Cliff Island, Maine.
These drawings sear across a spectrum of black humor—from the repulsively crude and the delightfully clever to the delightfully crude and the repulsively clever. Depending on the taste and constitution of the reader, Life Is with People may or may not induce a maniacal cycle of laughter, grimaces, and grimace-laughter. This book has guts. On every page it slits and spills them.
Kate never planned to steal a baby, yet here she was, driving around with a cheerful, bald-headed baby she’d only just met, kicking his stout legs on the passenger seat.