Even the most successful authors—like Phillis Wheatley and W. E. B. Du Bois—fail to publish all they’d like. What can that reveal about literature?
Three new poetry collections depart on a cosmic journey to reckon with ecology and our relations to a suffering earth.
Does loving a work of literature mean seizing it? How should critics feel about their feelings toward a text?
Maria Dahvana Headley’s translation of “Beowulf” forces us to think about what we need to be true about the past, and our access to it.
“We didn’t think of ourselves as hippies, we thought of ourselves as serious people with politics.”
“We have to witness everything… You don't do it by yourself. That mode of looking is not like any individual feat; it is a feat of joining.”
A new play centers on a Black woman who stops “accommodating white people” and, instead, asks them “about their love affair with my death.”
Amid this turbulent present, can poetry call attention to creative forms of survival and persistence, human and nonhuman?
“I research specific instances of Black artists who strip themselves out of mythologized dressings around race, sexuality, and gender.”
Within western poetry, women writers of color—and their lived experiences—are not nearly as recognized nor represented as their white peers.
Annotations isn’t a book you read for the plot. It’s more of a “Notes toward...” that remains just that: always towards, never quite arriving.
“There is nothing supreme about being white.”
The revelrous, rebellious writing of Hejinian—arguably our foremost poet-critic—works against our sense of psychological and political isolation.
To work as a translator is to encounter a text with an active desire in mind, a desire that both constitutes and modifies the way that text is experienced.
The dead, the disappeared, and the forgotten—these Iberian poems make clear—can never be safely put away.
Caesuras do things to stories—and to readers, even readers too young to know the term.
These poems undo the cultural invisibility of America’s Native Nations. They also, with unique abundance, secure the value of poetry itself.
For poet Honorée Fanonne Jeffers, as for the Black Romantics, history is the repetition of anti-Black violence that has yet to be abolished.
What happens when we dismantle the monumental status of a figure like Shakespeare in the canon? What other voices rise to describe the world?
A recent flourishing of Palestinian literature reckons with complications in historical memory caused by settler colonialism.