Bøger udgivet af Spuyten Duyvil

In the age-old tradition of alphabet poems, from Psalm 119, to St. Augustine, to Chaucer, to Edward Lear and the present, Neeli Cherkovski''s ABC''S expand the poet''s singing voice, discovering remarkable musicality in the verse''s every turn. Throughout the sequence, Cherkovski delivers intoxicating melodies, forms of silence often dizzying in their new familiarity.

What does Jenny Irish''s Tooth Box hold? A rabid girlhood of hybrid understanding, a quiet body yearning to express itself, and a wilderness of adults with mixed intentions. This book is stunning in its ability to move through and across form as a means to best express childhood discovery and trauma. Leaving readers wondering, where is my tooth box? What secret selves does my tooth box hold? Inventive, gut-wrenching, and full of strength, Irish''s work is in a category of its own.

Dystopia meets Orpheus in Blake Edward Hamilton''s Hiraeth. Through near-future plots that explore a range of concepts from global warming to homelessness to familial bonding, Hamilton skillfully and seamlessly stretches our known reality to a possible scenario where reincarnation is an invitation one can accept

At the Poetry Foundation, Laura Mullen says of Alexandria Peary that she is "one of those wonderful writers who know how to stay, as de Kooning put it, ''on the edge of something.''" 

It is fitting for the youth of a nation to provide the freshest metaphor for citizenship. M. K. Garrison''s metaphor is a teenager''s therapy sessions and the local world around them.

Like Sartre's Nausea gives intention and personality to external reality, in Eye, Apocalypse, Fuhrer brings the Apocalypse to the kitchen table.

Dick Martin's lawless imagination consumes language at an alarming rate, seemingly heedless of conserving a literary future, and leaving in its wake reality-induced characters like drugs for addicts. ("Come on, let's get unreal.") Chapter & Verse is addicting, like good reading. The crowd of characters could describe your section for a night game at Fenway: Beau Smith and Zygote, Pauline Silvernail and Marty Schnitzel, Penelope Dee Slimwhall and Dusty Figure-Head.

Below the unadorned surface of Natania Rosenfeld's poetry, there swim archetypal or (as one title puts it) aboriginal elements which manifest in dreams and in dreamlike vignettes of private lives and of the public traumas of history. In their use of color to convey the ineffable, the poems in "The Blue Bed" are at once abstract and painterly.

As its title suggests, Resurrection Fail is a worthy paradox, blending John Wall Barger's enviable economy of style with a luxury of spirit that glimmers beneath both his speaker's fetching enthusiasms and deep sorrows. These poems capture how the world's beauty and brutality are bound together; that we fail and-if we're lucky-find the will to resurrect ourselves over and over again. But for all this poet's clear seriousness of purpose, there's a vivid, often witty life force here that reminds me that I'm glad to be alive. I really loved getting to know this book and I bet you will, too.

Eric is a fraud as a sadhu. He has none of the appropriate credentials: no religion, no wisdom. His meditations are self-absorbed, nihilistic musings on the failures of both his aspirations and achievements.

Pearson's scalpel-like critique of the voyage, each word a careful enunciation of where the line has been, there remains the constant question of where it will go and what it will become. For just as Emily Dickinson once asked, "Is my verse alive?" so Pearson, with every word, challenges us to face down (if quietly and with grace) the dormant future. And it isn't metaphor. Pearson is all-too-aware of the tenuous state of our condition, our art.

The precision of Blauner's beautifully executed and deeply imagined prose evokes the sense of dreams that are awake and stronger than reality, but are reality. We are presented with the archetypes of our age: the challenged; the world-weary, the homeless, the hallucinators, the would-be saviors manifesting in movements which permeate society and truth, the anxious, the hopeful, the neglected, the lost. Blauner moves us through her novel in linguistic lightning strikes, illuminating and penetrating, but never lingering. Out of Which Came Nothing is a stunning book, a book not so much about the change that is coming as the change that has come.

Henri Droguet's savvy derangements of language call for a super-savvy translator, and found that prestidigitator in Alexander Dickow. With neologisms, internal-intestinal rhymes, arcane diction, a fierce wit, Droguet creates dreamscapes at once linguistically fraught and true to his North Atlantic habitat. His song, he says in "Soliloquy," is "spasm hemorrhage/ epiphanic and black." These are poems of mortal intensity.

Stylinaut is a portmanteau term for a modern-day astronaut turned stylite (or ascetic "pillar dwelling" saint). This figure, who is at once within and without our present moment in time, commits to writing as he ascends-and lives upon-the tiers of a desert pillar. It is a hybrid collection of philosophy/poetics that encodes seven separate but interrelated sections consisting of meditative fragments, experimental fiction, poems, and aphorisms. The book focuses on the liminal movement of the stylinaut's alternating experience of dukkhic suffering and its corollary nirvanic bliss, with the ascent culminating at seventy-seven feet above the ground, and ultimately asks us to speculatively open ourselves to the maximal densities of life and all the strangeness/sweetness it tends to encapsulate.

"Priest/ess is hastain's epic of transitional consciousness-an over-arching poetics that spans a variety of means to forward trans formation. Obvious themes within any social frame are brought to a shape-shifted ecstatic healing-from cast-out normative body register to flaccid spiritualism. Populated with the usual archetypes of epic human consciousness-male/female, mother/father, light/dark-the Priest/ess books convey us to a hidden history of transparent magics. A collection of notes, songs, poems and diaristic entries sourced from near and far mythologies, move narration into a transcendental and uncategorizable masterwork surprising on all levels"--

Martin Nakell takes us on a fascinating journey....And in this journey Nakell makes us see things we have never seen before: 'without this desert everyone would die of thirst....[R]eminiscent of some of the best compositions by Philip Glass....the poem's...passages impart the sensation of negative space; they vanish into meaning.

Good Morning Bone Crusher! is a book of poems written in homage to the sun. These poems invite us to see the world as is, uncorrupted by ego and prejudice. A cinéma-vérité in which William Carlos Williams walks with A.R. Ammons and Lao Tsu in a wildflower field where Gertrude Stein and Harpo Marx play badminton over a tattered net.

Like a modern day sometimes vehicular flaneur, wandering among the ruins, treasures, and bric-a-brac of our throwaway civilization, Joe Safdie brandishes his considerable erudition in The Oregon Trail to focus on phenomena as they pass our line of sight or flit through the mind, giving us another version of realism.    Ammiel Alcalay

Two broken families, fractured lives, prose that often reads like poetry and a deep understanding of what it feels like to be an adopted child, who experiences a complicated world beyond his control and of which he never really feels a part. This is Andrew Mossin''s heartbreaking memoir, an adoption story that is raw, revealing and painful, about the presence of someone he never knew and the struggle to find his place with the parents who raised him.

Doren Robbins''s Sympathetic Manifesto presents an unmasked magnum mural of our world. From the mostly backroom labors and laborers in commercial kitchens to the mostly pushed-back labors and laborers of perception and social consciousness, Robbins''s builders, lovers, teachers, and other others-including "carcinogenicized insulation installers" and "military flip-outs" and "meltdown cleanup crews"-place us, again and again, within arm''s reach of each other and newly in touch with ourselves.

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