To start, let us thank Nachoem Wijnberg for doing something rare in poetry. He admits openly what all poets know of themselves: that they are talentless, and their success unearned.
The other day a new video emerged from Ukraine of shelling in an apartment project—reporters and grandmothers dash for cover as large, pressure-sucking booms roar through the cement canyon of the c
In her 11th poetry collection, Bestiary Dark, Marianne Boruch goes back to Pliny the Elder, who asked, “The world, is it finite?” The answer is both no and yes.
