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The American Poetry ReviewThe American Poetry Review

The American Poetry Review September/October 2018

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.

Country:
United States
Language:
English
Publisher:
World Poetry, Inc
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6 Issues

IN THIS ISSUE

access_time3 min.
five poems

Eternal Recurrence I don’t knowwhat’s so neoabout neo-nazis they seem a lotlike the oldnazis to me shouting jews will not replace usin charlottesvillein frankfurt marching by my grandmother’shouse shoutingpretty much the same ought we to get going nowgalloping seemsa good idea Soft Targets It was good getting drunk in the undulant city.Whiskey lopping off the day’s fear. Dawn came with an element of Xanax.Dusk came and I dumbed myself down. Where there were brides, grooms—bored boysoldiers with iphones and guns. I’m a soft target, you’re a soft target,and the city has a hundred hundred thousand softs. The pervious skin, the softness of the face,the wrist inners, the hips, the lips, the tongue, the global body,its infinite permute softnesses. ~ Soft targets, soft readers, drinkers,pedestrians in rain— In the failing light we walked outand now we share a room with it (would you like to read to…

access_time3 min.
three poems

Stone December Except for the blue jay jabbering for sex, solitary bright note of sky. Except for the wandering chickens & the guard cats the lone trees on my side of the street still somehow ablaze with fall. Except for this whole animal world, I’ll talk to no one. No one. Last night, with him inside me I could remember why I hate it. I wanted to say, you have to make me ask for it but then it was morning & he was driving me back home. Hush. How can I say this so you’ll believe me? It’s fine. It’s all fine, perfect skein of my living, brazen misplaced song. [Black Feeling] … & after that, even the whirring of your head goes quiet. Even your breath. No sound. Someone in workshop says something like, in Italian, stanza means room. Don’t roll your eyes. Here you are in the room. Here you are…

access_time1 min.
ars poetica ii

How I feel right now? Sharp pain/How I felt yesterday? Pain not as sharp but dull just as maddening to extract/How can I tell if I can’t see the wound? I am an academic. I study race, Jim Crow got wings and pseudopods I know its flapping in my belly, I know its squirming/How do I cope? I don’t, I wait for something that looks like a tongue blooming and I water it/How do you say that another way? I look for fire in the eyes of hurt and pray it becomes a superpower/How can you control the flame? That’s the point, I am looking for a loss of control/Do you think that will numb your pain?/Do you think that will solve the problem? When has solving the problem been…

access_time1 min.
the slow art

2018 DOROTHY BRUNSMAN POETRY PRIZE The poems in The Slow Art are boiled down to unflinching essentials. Golden refuses to hide behind the easy fires and maximal adornment of so much contemporary poetry, giving us a rough-edged vision that drifts out into a world of machinery, work, and family. The art here is that the poems drift inward, too—to the landscape of the self where time, language, and experience become a tangle of the brutal, the mysterious, the essential, and the celebrated…. I celebrate this book whose heart contains the world and those who work it “for her, for him, for them, for me, for you.” —Michael McGriff, author of Early Hour and Black Postcards In these poems that confront love and loss in a beautiful yet unforgiving place, the landscape is populated…

access_time21 min.
ars poetica

1. A poem is something that can’t otherwise be said addressed to someone who can’t otherwise hear it. By this definition, poetry is deeply impractical and deeply necessary. There aren’t good words for most things we need to express, and lots of the people we need to say them to are dead or otherwise unavailable. Poets tend to need poems to handle subjects that are complex, subtle, nuanced, even painful, embarrassing, shameful, or simply ridiculous if actually uttered aloud. And so we have always needed poetry, as long as there has been language, and perhaps even before. Language began with poetry, with the idea that this means that, a word, a sound, can conjure a thing, with the fact that we often need our mouths to point to what’s beyond the…

access_time4 min.
two poems

Wartime Lullaby This is your early childhood.Your brother scratched your face here.This broken-concrete patio.Daffodils under your window will come and go like friends. She enters the combination 0000opens a suitcase full of official documents,deposits a fresh jasmine, a pencil and lighter, a thin gold chainand a lotus bud pendant,things to make me powerful. One more thing: She calls me a word that sounds like a frogor a crispy snack. A good crushed word. Your dad didn’t come to the hospital the day you were born. That is your early childhood. Poem About My Feelings I want a salary for my feelings You heard meI want to get paid I want a raiseevery time I must explain Because if I get paidfor the ways I feel(and I feel so much)maybe I would be more worthy of respect Maybe one dayI’ll make feeling my…

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