World Poetry, Inc

The American Poetry Review

The American Poetry Review March - April 2015

The American Poetry Review reaches a worldwide audience six times a year with the finest contemporary poetry, columns, interviews, photos, translations, and reviews. Every issue includes new voices, established masters, and exciting new translations.

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United States
World Poetry, Inc
6 Issues

in this issue

9 min
five poems and an interview: a special ap2 supplement

Vivas to Those Who Have Failed: The Paterson Silk Strike, 1913 Vivas to those who have fail’d! And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea! And to those themselves who sank in the sea! And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes! And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known! —Walt Whitman I. The Red Flag The newspapers said the strikers would hoist the red flag of anarchy over the silk mills of Paterson. At the strike meeting, a dyers’ helper from Naples rose as if from the steam of his labor, lifted up his hand and said here is the red flag: brightly stained with dye for the silk of bow ties and scarves, the skin and fingernails boiled away for six dollars a week in the dye house. He sat down without another word, sank back into the…

1 min
antisocial media

It’s easier to computer than to crash. It’s easier to computer than to hold a hand or knit a winter together from headlights on the highway. It’s easier to computer and be a hybrid and cross from bowels and eardrums into hours lit and roaring by like freight. The chapters there can tell you an octopus has three hearts, that snails breathe through their feet. It is easier to have no arms or breath, to position through colors and jumps shoreless as steam. No surfaces. No verbs to be. No mussels or bellows or congestion or caffeine. No lens to focus, no Rome to burn. Who can do when the roots are so untidy and the branches rack like antlers against other branches. It’s easier to computer than to guess at a savior. Than to whisper slips of information to the flesh. Let language construct mere dewdrops of…

17 min
in the same breath

IN THE OPENING PAGES OF CLAUDIA RANkine’s tour de force Citizen: An American Lyric, she writes: You are in the dark, in the car, watching the black-tarred street being swallowed by speed; he tells you his dean is making him hire a per- son of color when there are so many great writ- ers out there. You think maybe this is an experiment and you are being tested or retroactively insulted or you have done something that communicates this is an okay conversation to be having. Why do you feel comfortable saying this to me?1 In this moment the reader is presented with an overwhelming sense of paradox. We assume that the identity of the speaker mirrors that of the author, a Black woman, a prominent writer and professor, a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets, and yet, still, Rankine’s…

5 min
four poems

I Mistyped “Jump” and so saw, as if risen up from a kind of community plasm, how the rage my body shares with the rest of the species, a blanketing crimson rage, a dagger-shape of rage, the kind that seized control of Allie J on finding her man in the back booth with Yolanda and resulted in a bottle in her fist and (from her man) a torn aorta and (Yolanda) a muddle of teeth and blood on the floor is also the rage—the same splenetic haze and dagger— that drives the warriors, crazy for death, with death in their hearts, with crazy in their hearts, to the enemy village, over the wall of thorns around its kraal, half-a-planet away from Bobby’s Beer & Billiards on South Sixteenth. Also, the chains of flowers the children sing their rhymes about (and have for thousands of years) in the village clearing…

2 min
letters to c

I At three in the afternoon, I’m the most demanding woman in the world . . . When it’s over, six in the afternoon comes, also indescribable, in which I turn blind. —Lispector to Fernando Sabino, 1946 Dear C, I’m turning from. Have been syntaxed and stirred into a purple. Blurred to blind. I made a mess of page twenty-two, Couldn’t resurrect what you left unsaid into words that wouldn’t. Do you believe in grieving? I mean for language, the endangered animal of, fleeing into caves. I can only keep after it in fits or I get trapped in the keeping after. That, and bliss. Your spinning but devoted I.N. II The word that’s missing in order to complete a thought may take half a lifetime to appear. —Lispector to Fernando Sabino, 1953 I’ve vanished from waiting for the word that will. The way my neighbor backs up his car so fast…

1 min
visiting writers series

SPRING 2015 ASALI SOLOMON Thursday, March 19, 2015 7 p.m., Location TBD Asali Solomon received a Rona Jaffe Foundation Writers’ Award and was selected as a National Book Foundation “5 Under 35” for the short stories in her debut collection Get Down, which was also featured as “This Week’s Must Read” on National Public Radio’s All Things Considered. Her debut novel, Disgruntled, was published by Farrar, Straus & Giroux in February 2015. Stories and essays have appeared in The Kenyon Review, O: The Oprah Magazine, and several anthologies. She teaches literature and fiction writing at Haverford College. ELISE JUSKA Thursday, April 16, 2015 7 p.m., Location TBD Elise Juska’s 2014 novel The Blessings was named a Barnes & Noble Discover Great New Writers selection and chosen for Entertainment Weekly’s “Must List.” Her work has appeared in…