Beloslava Dimitrova
God this poetry’s made me so horny / it’s made me forget my own existence
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God this poetry’s made me so horny / it’s made me forget my own existence
He looks around for / a fire, a tragedy, police, / so early on a Monday morning / when the world seems / a brittle and fragile place.
Guest editor Clint Margrave introduces readers of English to an eclectic mix of poets, both established and emerging, who are defining the Bulgarian literary scene right now. Check back daily throughout November for new poetry from Bulgaria.
He looks around for / a fire, a tragedy, police, / so early on a Monday morning / when the world seems / a brittle
God this poetry’s made me so horny / it’s made me forget my own existence
Should we break up? / Okay. / But let it be / through the middle
I no longer blame you for going into the sea and not coming back.
A monster is never something from the future / despite the lingering fear you might become one.
I take my leave of mother, she gives me / a key, but there is / no key, only her hand stretching out / and
The peddler could hardly see the path in front of him, and cursed himself for failing to buy new oil for his lantern. Twice he
No one knows how much the silverware drawer matters. It rattles in Leah’s mind if it’s left unorganized. She checks it often.
He didn’t recognize me, or else pretended not to see me. A neighbour who doesn’t say hello. I’m a neighbour who is see-through, perhaps completely invisible, not
My sister bought me a “Sucka Free” hoodie in the ‘80s when Yo! MTV Raps was hot. I wore that shirt till the hole under
Geoffrey pulls his hand from his pocket and withdraws the four-inch handle of a switchblade knife. Jason’s face turns ghostly. The American yells and runs
Horror stares back at me surreptitiously from every corner of the flat with wide-open cats’ eyes. The reflexes I had of old have become alien
“There is little financial reward in publishing poetry but a great deal of satisfaction” – Rob A. Mackenzie on the origins and history of Blue
CLEARING THE THROAT I used to cox. Hours on the water calling cadence and strokes. Guiding the boat’s body, guiding the rudder, guiding
IT’S NOT A POEM Phil Levine died on Saturday. While the newspaper obituaries discussed his position as a “poet of the common man,”
B O D Y reviews new pamphlets by David Kinloch, James Appleby, and Sophie Cooke.
Hostovsky’s fondness for words and keen ear for spoken language benefit his writing: he can record and create dialogue in a brilliant and natural way. In this respect, he has more in common with short-story writers than with most contemporary poets, who tend to avoid direct speech.
W. H. Auden once said that poets should dress like businessmen. Thom Gunn preferred leather and chains.
These four poets and their recent books are representative of the poetry currently being written in Southwest England and the country more broadly.
Eight recent volumes of poetry, prose, and photography, reviewed by our editors
From her earliest work — before the idea of eco-entanglement was widely adopted by poets — Arnold viewed nature not as an ‘object’ or ‘other’ but as an inextricable (and clearly endangered) system in which humanity participates.
B O D Y’s art editor Jessica Mensch meets up with Montreal-based artists Sarah Wendt & Pascal Dufaux at their Montréal studio to talk about their recent solo show, Miel du temps, at Musée d’art de Joliette, in Joliette, Quebec.
B O D Y interviews Scott Kiernan, a New York-based artist whose video, photo and installation works interact in ways that address their own materiality and means of distribution.
Anna Hawkins is an artist who works primarily in moving image and installation with an interest in the ways that images, gestures and language are circulated and transformed online and the impacts of technology on the intimate spheres of daily life.
“The biggest challenge of translating Sachs into English, for me, had to do with tracking the movement of her mind in the forming of a poem.”
The Russian Civil War was a truly terrible event in terms of awful acts of atrocious violence, but there’s also a weird sense of farce about this, of history being played at the wrong speed.
Andrey Filimonov comes from Tomsk, the 400-year-old “Athens of Siberia” and center of White Russian resistance during the Russian Civil War.
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