No, the dead aren’t getting bored. Far away they are waiting for me to reach them. And waiting, they leaf through a book with wet pages—and they smile at me.
Fiction
Nora Iuga: From Capriccios
13. then the phone rang a white horse appeared and ate from my palm my hand crossed the red sea it reached the promised land stone by stone my way is clear stone by stone my flesh becomes thinner there was a character who came out of nowhere the very mouth of my beloved today […]
Bob Holman: On Changing the Past
for Abdel Aziz al-Maqaleh Through the mandhara of your eyes, dear Poet I see each second of eternity pass, frame- by-frame, over Sana’a A Shadow constantly seeking its Object Through the mandhara of your eyes, dear Poet I see the slow making of a City, the slow making of a life Here in the dust […]
Bob Holman: How Kora Was Born
as sung by Papa Susso to Bob Holman This story begins long long long long ago So long ago that it was a place not a time There was a man He was so alone The only person he could talk to was Africa Luckily there was a tree nearby Even more luckily behind that […]
Bob Holman with Christopher Connelly: Griots Gestural Poems, and Giving Off Sparks: Bob Holman Teaches PBQ How to Put the English on the Word
If you have paid attention to poetry at all during the last 20 years, you have probably heard of Bob Holman, who has long been the neglected art’s most tireless advocate. He is the author of seven books of poetry and the editor of two anthologies, including Aloud: Voices from the Nuyorican Poet’s Café, winner […]
Christopher Connelly: Introduction to International Poetry Supplement
Don’t mistake the Painted Bride Quarterly’s “International Poetry Supplement” for another friendly exhibition of the exotic species of poetry that flourish in other countries. Instead, think of it as a kick aimed at contemporary American poetry’s corpulent ass. Years of inbreeding have produced a surfeit of lazy poems that are either too hermetic to be […]