Nicholas Friedman
Browsing a library copy of What to Expect, I imagine St. Jerome, making by candlelight the infamous error.
Adam Scheffler
in death I want to be cremated burn up with desire and whoosh with the wind, backspraying onto a friend’s face or coat,
Richard Howard
From the Review, June, 2008.
Louise Glück
We celebrate the 2020 winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature, with a look back at four decades of her work in the Review.
From the Review, April, 2008.
From the Review, October, 2011.
From the Review, January, 1999.
From the Review, July, 1981.
From the Review, January–April, 1992.
Armen Davoudian
His face tanned almost to the faded tone of the adobe alcove, father’s father sits in his handsome sixties
Jake Crist
Encounter plus a posture of consent: A messiah might hide in a second spent
Alexandria Hall
I wish I cared more about the birds, but I am interested in omens,
Tomas Unger
Looking back, it seems the mind knows as little as the body what it acts out
Hannah Hirsh
I visited Rome once. I was fifteen, just a slip of a girl, or less than a slip, I was maybe a sip of a watered-down drink, in a tulip skirt and flip flops
Jacob Eigen
We would sit at the counter saying I love so-and-so but live with so-and-so-someone-else,
“Take unity away from a thing and existence too ceases,” that brain had once thought.
When he was a spider exuding thread between rocks, he considered his earlier life as a man
Therefore they take this time to whisper nothings to each other. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing,
Krystyna Dabrowska, translated by Mira Rosenthal
a young, black dog, how he kept falling headlong into the water,
Roger Reeves
With its hands in its pocket, Moon hung calm above
Catastrophe, the police Breaking the neck of a man
Death now in a pocket of pines, in the thick Hair of a boy who turns a skunk over With a stick, watching the Christmas of its intestines
Mark Bibbins
How old are you, sweet knot of toads, how old.
Will Frazier
When I looked at him, a voice in my head said
This is your dad, he is speaking, you are on earth, this is your life
Phillip B. Williams
Maybe madness make my mouth mine?
Matthea Harvey
Now, as we file in for our first journey together, even this choice of fourteen floors
floors me.
