If you aren’t already aware: it’s National Poetry Month! This month we’ve been tweeting recommendations of first books by astounding poets. Check out our Favorite Debut Poetry Collections for more info. We’ve seen a lot of great responses to these tweets–so we’ve decided to ramp up our game. We’ve asked our staff to think back to a time when they were unfamiliar with poetry–is there a poem or poet that spoke to them? Which collections would they recommend to new poetry readers? Their answers are below.
Posts Categorized: Poetry
In those days thought hung
like one rotted bulb of light
quiet and cold past glowing.
I loved a man who moved
over me like a horsehair bow
bent on still and silent strings.
Each morning sour cans lined
the shelves and my eyes slid oily over.
We smoked naked at the windows
and swallowed oysters for breakfast,
greedy as salt biting tongue.
I lost track of myself, but nothing else
seemed to forget what it was.
The street remained a hard back.
The accident on my leg healed
into a muted seam.
I wanted love to be an end
to the days, which I kept
door after door.
Some nights the man hauled
I looked in him for something
more than mere sensation
which is what ghosts are.
That searching was almost
like being seen.
Indiana Review Online 2018: An Undergraduate Project
Birth, Blood, Breed
To read the introduction to the issue and view the masthead, click here.
IR Online is an international undergraduate literary journal produced by the Literary Editing and Publishing class at Indiana University, Bloomington. Issue 3 was planned and compiled by Emily Corwin’s class in Spring, 2018.
At the end of the New Years party, after a few drinks,
the boy I went to high school with decided to leave with a joke:
“Hasta la vista, or whatever they say in your country.”
That night I was thinking: were his jokes always that bad?
“It’s possible that white boys use humor to talk about race
and culture,” I wrote in my journal, and also “people will result to humor
when they don’t understand something.” Actually, I meant resort,
people will resort to humor. What can I say, words are hard.
And I frequently make spelling mistakes in my journal,
where I often go back to my old thoughts, like I’m having them all over again.
I heard your memories change over time in your mind
so I like to write them down. To go back to them. re-read them.