This sense of being at the center of a thought-scape expanding in all directions—and dimensions—is…

This is not an elegy to the life of Feiga, it is an elegy for the many possible lives Feiga could…

Injured hymns came issuing from the vicinity of Donald Revell’s previous volume, the elegiac…

As a metaphor, of course, clarity fails. This idea that the language of which poetry is made exists…

Mary Ruefle’s poetry has always preferred to be read at twilight, when what appears at first to be…