Instead, it stares unflinchingly and unapologetically at the world, especially some of its more unusual places and situations. It doesn’t look down on or sideways at the world. Ross Gay’s poetry is not like most of the contemporary poetry you may have read. program in poetry at Drew University, and in Indiana University's English department.Ī "Mini-Review" of Ross Gay's Featured Poems by Contributing-Editor Zachary Macholz in American Literature from Temple University. in poetry from Sarah Lawrence College, and his Ph.D. He is an editor with the chapbook press Q Avenue. He has also, with the artist Kimberly Thomas, collaborated on several artists' books: The Cold Loop, BRN2HNT and The Bullet. His poems have appeared in American Poetry Review, MARGIE, Ploughshares, and many other magazines. Ross Gay's books of poems include Against Which (CavanKerry Press, 2006) and Bringing the Shovel Down (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2011). And the sound of the fliesĭoing their patient work. In the dust not twitching for flies, and her motherĬurled around her, watching the night moveĪcross the plains. What wretch and rack you might o and mightĭust motes gathering on a photo on a mantle.Īs the fawn tugs at the dry nub. If you've not awoken from a dream wet-faced Watching the small bones of your face go slack. Rage and emptied his gun into the family dog Hand, and if your father never entered a drunken This cigarette, what this blade, what this shivering To the damp earth while someone decided what Making his lips bleed, if you've not been pinned The feathery neck of some small animal, if you've That it was their haphazard search for some Genetic proclivities toward the flight and quickĭisappeared despite the wet teeth above it. That she was wanderingīeneath some shrub. That the lioness was alone and her two cubs With its spindly neck and dust lifts around themĪs the lioness licks the fawn's boney skull. On its side while a gazelle pumps her tit
It alighted in the child's body while he lookedīecause the child has moved into photographsĪ dead child's face as the blood empties from it.īecause this is not a dream. Their arm hair staunch and their stretchedīecause the bullet was a dream before it was a bird. This little one with its snout draws a circle
0 kommentar(er)
