The sonnet, with its turning point, its tendency to question-and-answer, seems to me sometimes like a small-scale theatrical genre, indeed perhaps—with its boxy dimensions on the page, its history of many different voices speaking in that same compact space—a micro-theatre in itself. This poem recalls my first steps as a writer and the realisation that the tools of the craft are available to anyone. Susan Mackervoy on "Material" |
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Poetry Daily Thanks You
Many thanks indeed to all our readers and contributors, whose passion for poetry inspires us, and to all our generous donors, without whose support we could not continue. We look forward to sharing the very best contemporary poetry with you for the rest of the year. Stay safe and stay well. |
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Philip Metres on Technology, Poetry and Gaza
"'When It Rains in Gaza' (a poem in Shrapnel Maps) began when I saw photos of a girl in a green hoodie pulling books out of the rubble, her malnourished arms like oversized pencils. Her eyes caught the camera’s eye as she piled the books in the crook of her arm. Not corpses half-buried in dust, but this girl living after the apocalypse—that is what haunted me."
via NEW OHIO REVIEW |
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What Sparks Poetry:
Jason Schneiderman on W. H. Auden's “Musée des Beaux Arts""I remain amazed by how many rules the poem seems to break. The first stanza of the poem is a direct violation of that old dictum, 'show don’t tell.' Auden makes a lot of claims about how the Old Masters depict suffering, and he tells the reader how to interpret the paintings being discussed. The Old Masters might be showing, but Auden is quite definitely telling." |
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