The Constant Critic

Apparition Hill

Mary Ruefle

Mary Ruefle’s poetry has always preferred to be read at twilight, when what appears at first to be a tissue of wryly-observed but loosely related details can become in an instant as solid as a gravestone (or as weird as an illness). Generally her poems…


Susan Stewart

* Dear Bill Bailey, Dear Jimmy Dean: I think we need to talk about our relationship. I think it’s time we all admit the truth: whether ya’ll are coming or going, you’re still there. “Yesterday upon the stair I saw a man who wasn’t there…

The Masses Are Asses

Pedro Pietri

Little books: at the bookstores they get pride of impulse-purchase place and sit by the cash register, only to get lost in a jacket pocket or stashed in the bathroom. But pick up a Hanuman edition of John Wieners, Willem de Kooning, or Cookie Mueller,…

The Body’s Question

Tracy K. Smith

Just as I was beginning to have my doubts about ‘negative capability’—maybe it really is just a prank played on posterity by Keats’s sorry MD-style penmanship—along comes a new poet with neg. cap. to spare. Wisely chosen by Kevin Young to receive the 2002 Cave…

The Best American Poetry 2003

Guest Editor Yusef Komunyakaa, Series Editor David Lehman

Set aside any reservations about the superlative in the title; the copyright page advises, “This book is a work of fiction.” Resist the urge to skip from the table of contents to the poets you feel safe with; the editors honor only 75 poems, one…

My Mojave

Donald Revell

Injured hymns came issuing from the vicinity of Donald Revell’s previous volume, the elegiac Arcady; his new book, My Mojave, stands the respective ground of its title. It would be difficult to select two regions that pose a greater contrast than Arcady and the Mojave….

A Handmade Museum

Brenda Coultas

I had a hell of a good time with A Handmade Museum, in which Brenda Coultas commits the fairly uncommon trick of going to both country and town. And even though landscapes rural and urban enjoy equal attention here, the collection altogether has the feeling…

Incidental Eclipse

Joseph Donahue

"I was in Dallas when Kennedy was shot," Joseph Donahue wrote, in a poem called “Seven” in his memorable debut, Before Creation, thus giving a characteristically radiant and weird answer to the generation-defining conversation starter. (Warren Burger’s ghost need not rise: the poem’s title indicates…

Warning: count(): Parameter must be an array or an object that implements Countable in /home/customer/www/ on line 496
WordPress Theme built by Shufflehound. website created by Chris O'Neal Design