Jul, 18 2019 | no responses
The arc of the book is one spent living in and thinking about mountains where the landscape is mapped in drawings, traced through walks, experienced through pain, defined in books, and remembered with past companions—human and animal.
Jul, 16 2019 | no responses
What I call my good intentions get the best of me. / During week two of the semester I have students // place an asterisk each time shame shows up / in the excerpt of a memoir whose author’s take // on affirmative action & bilingualism I take for / internalized whitewashing.
As the Stars Burrow against My Ribs
Jul, 16 2019 | no responses
I elegy. This bright morning unsayable / as the sentence of the woman who died / in daylight as her children climbed her still / body in a hospital bed.
Jul, 16 2019 | no responses
My mother came to me last night. // Holding my youngest brother, / the ends of her body had disappeared.
Jul, 16 2019 | no responses
Change is inevitable and Sengupta himself sets out as a wandering minstrel to bring out the inner psyche within the poetic canvas. His poems, vibrant with an insatiable zest for life, give readers a healing touch, silence plays the flute, and readers plunge into “solitary stillness” where poetry pervades.
Jul, 15 2019 | no responses
There is no doubt that these poems are brutal—harsh in their insistence on wanting to document what happens on the other side of an abusive relationship. By channeling the voices of so many other “hysterical” poets, Skaja shows the resilience and power in confessing the past.