Erica Wright

Live from the Homesick Jamboree

My latest review in ForeWord Magazine is of Adrian Blevins's Live from the Homesick Jamboree:

Although death is frequently evoked in Adrian Blevins’s latest collection, not even drowning can kill the speaker of these poems. As the title suggests, she is what’s coming live (electrified?) from the homesick jamboree. She is sometimes self-deprecating, as in “School of the Arts,” in which she refers to herself as “like some forever raggedy thing forever underwater.” However, there is no doubt of the character’s strength as she navigates her raucous childhood. What is momentarily perplexing is her nostalgia for those days. CONTINUE...

Self-Portrait with Crayon by Allison Benis White

The poems of Self-Portrait with Crayon are haunted. There are no ghosts or goblins lurking, but rather an absent mother and Edgar Degas.

The two apparitions seem unconnected until Allison Benis White skillfully commingles them. The first poem of this collection, “From Degas’ Sketchbook,” finds the speaker hiding in a closet, imagining her mother: “The shoulders are the span of the hanger and the mind is the hook which suspends the entire dress.” It is as if the outline of the clothes allows her to color her mother into the picture and into the book. Continue...

When She Named Fire: An Anthology of Contemporary Poetry by American Women

Unwieldy and heavy, promising as much backache as discovery, the poetry anthology is a staple of the college classroom. It is difficult to imagine such a text being as enjoyable as it is educational, but recently the anthology has gotten a makeover. Independent presses are tackling smaller areas of the poetic landscape, and the result is books that can be read cover to cover. When She Named Fire is substantive, weighing in at 461 poems, but it is not unmanageable. This text belongs on a nightstand as easily as it belongs in American Poetry 230--a credit to editor Andrea Hollander Budy. Continue...

Sarah Lindsay's Twigs and Knucklebones

In her latest collection of poems, Twigs and Knucklebones, Sarah Lindsay revels in the pleasure of being omniscient. Writer and reader alike enjoy the privilege of superhuman knowledge in poems that blur the line between the apocryphal and the real world. A spider crawls out from the ash in “Elegy from Quagga” as if to say, “Not yet;” however damaged, the world remains.

To read my entire review of Sarah Lindsay's Twigs and Knucklebones for ForeWord Magazine, go HERE.

State of the Union

I review State of the Union: 50 Political Poems for ForeWord Magazine, HERE.

State of the Union is newly released by Wave Books and edited by Matthew Zapruder and Joshua Beckman.

Kazim Ali's The Fortieth Day

I review Kazim Ali's new collection for ForeWord Magazine, HERE.

Factory of Tears

Factory of Tears by Valzhyna Mort (translated by Franz Wright and Elizabeth Wright) is the first Belarusian-English translation to be published in the U.S. Read my review for ForeWord, HERE.

Sidney Wade's Stroke

My review of Sidney Wade's latest collection of poems (Stroke from Persea Books) for ForeWord Magazine is available HERE.

In Her Absence

My review of Antonio Muñoz Molina's novella, In Her Absence, here at ForeWord Magazine. (tr. Esther Allen)

Teaser: At its best (Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Salman Rushdie, Angela Carter), magical realism lures in its readers, making the impossible seem merely improbable. Antonio Muñoz Molina’s novella, In Her Absence, is a supreme example of this technique. The mystery of the story—whether Mario’s wife, Blanca, has been replaced by someone identical—seems far-fetched and simultaneously believable. No, his real wife would never paint her toenails, and no, she would never watch soap operas. Flimsy evidence becomes convincing when placed in the thoughts of Mario, the most diligent—if not downright obsessive—husband imaginable.

Another Review (Dougherty's Broken Hallelujahs)

Full text: ForeWord Magazine

Teaser: In his 2002/2003 Frost Medal acceptance speech, Lawrence Ferlinghetti described three types of poetry, the last and most important being standing poetry, “the poetry of commitment, often great, often dreadful.” Sean Thomas Dougherty is a standing poet. He tackles socially aware subjects and draws his inspiration, not from the literary canon, but from music and spoken word. In his latest collection, Broken Hallelujahs, Dougherty demonstrates that he is a master of momentum. He does not pause to catch his breath and thus catches his readers right along with him. The opening poem, “The Sentence,” announces the poet’s belief in the power of language: “The sentence is a chanteuse, unretired, stirring with a strong sigh, a suffering sparrow, outside a gray downtown Nativity scene, this last sentence: a small, winged thing rising—” The sentence, the poem, flies off the page. It is not a trick, but rather language’s possibility to change and perhaps to promote change.