Kevin Killian

The poems of The Islands, Sakkis' longest and most complete version of his poetics, are by turns a complex and miraculously fluid set of lyrics, with narrative buried in them, sometimes deep under strata of time, sometimes in the shallowest of cuts, so that a child might run his fingers through the sand and pick up a star.

Jacolby Satterwhite for The New York Times

Andrew Durbin’s “Mature Themes” uses and interchanges the forms of poetry, essay, prose, etc. so spatially until I begin to interpret the book as sculpture. Artistically, I identify with Andrew’s impulse to gymnastically synthesize a concrete narrative with disparate and difficult unrelated processes.

Publishers Weekly

Borzutzky (The Book of Interfering Bodies) turns an insomniac’s eye toward the forces and wastes of late capitalism, in a third collection that is corporeal, terrifying, discerning, and utterly—rapturously—insane. But unlike the familiar tropes of the sage fool or the tortured artist, the radical instability that charges Borzutzky’s poems is found in the maniacal outpouring of language sprung from a world of excess and decay.

New Pages

by Patrick Dunagan

Throughout John Sakkis's The Islands, a polyvocal weave of declarative refrains sound out in dizzying display.

Queen Mobs

by M.L. Harrison

In Mani: Travels in the Southern Peleponnese, prose stylist and explorer Patrick Leigh Fermor discusses the persistence of archaic, pagan practices in the Greek countryside—even into the twentieth century:

The Constant Critic

Trying to offer a clear critical comment on Bhanu Kapil’s Ban en Banlieue is particularly challenging because it so stridently seeks to side-step the rational, hierarchical, closed-system imaginations which generate race riots, which churn women’s bodies into sexual fodder and carcasses tossed out of vans, which demand that we see mental illness as an individual disorder rather than as a human soul crying out amidst inhuman cultural paroxysms.

Publisher's Weekly

"I wanted to water that which was not there. The partitions fell. There was no matter." Buzzeo's book-length poem, written mostly in prose, imagines two lovers who survive the "Devastation" and lie at the bottom of the ocean. Water is a philosophical problem, a gap in meaning, a void, a space beyond and after civilization. An "I" and a "you" try to meet within that void and find their own radically new way of life, even though "The water killed itself./ The water will never come back.

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