during the break in chapter,
gets up to stretch beneath a skylight
and hears seagulls, small girls running.
Freedom is a prison for the representative savant
addled on bath-tub gin and with retinas inflamed
from too long staring into the Arizona sun
or into red dirt which acknowledges no master
but the attrition of desert winds and melt-water.
Leontia Flynn’s The Radio is out this month, so WFU Press interns gathered to ask the poet more about her newest collection. Written in three sections, The Radio explores the boundaries of home and family life from Flynn’s experience caring for her infant child, to coping with her father’s death, to remembering the influence of…Continue Reading
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The world is born of hysterical men and women.
Our teeth are shiny as accidental stars.
The hot, brilliant workings of our firmaments
of protons, atoms, axons, dendrites…
This morning it was announced that Leontia Flynn has won the Irish Times Poetry Now Award for her newest volume, The Radio. From the Irish Times announcement: In making their choice, the judges noted “the variance and voracious excellence of new Irish poetry, in books which experimented with long poems, prose poems, biography and translation….Continue Reading
A poem in Irish by Ailbhe Ní Ghearbhuigh, with a translation by Gabriel Rosenstock, from The Wake Forest Series of Irish Poetry, Vol. IV (2017)Continue Reading
WFU Press is glad to announce the publication of a new selection of John Montague’s work. A Spell to Bless the Silence: Selected Poems includes work from fourteen volumes written over more than fifty years. Undertaken by Montague and his wife, Elizabeth Wassell, prior to the poet’s death in December 2016, this new selection represents “not only…Continue Reading
The Irish celebrate St. Brigid’s Day on February 1 to welcome the beginning of spring. Even though we’re not quite there yet in the US, today’s poem by Alan Gillis channels that sense of anticipation for the end of winter. In an interview with the Edinburgh Review, Gillis discusses his experimentation with the pastoral form in…Continue Reading
The calamity of seals begins with jaws.
Born in caverns that reverberate
With endless malice of the sea’s tongue
Clacking on shingle, they learn to bark back
In fear and sadness and celebration.