Bøger udgivet af Tupelo Press, Inc.

"At its simplest, this is the story of a restless search for a place to be- a way to live- after a series of devastating events. But there's nothing simple about it. Kelle Groom has created a marvel: a haunted, haunting, beautifully sustained dream of a book."-Joan Wickersham

In Therapon poets Bruce Bond and Dan Beachy-Quick engage in a dialogue of near-sonnets, 13-lined investigations, both personal and cultural, that explore the unfinished, haunted, and unrepresentable nature of selfhood as best suggested and enlarged in gestures of exchange. Inspired by the work of Emmanuel Levinas, this book interrogates not only our ethical relation to others as beyond the pretense of our grasp, but also the notion that otherness inhabits each of us, however individuated and misunderstood, and makes our language possible, unstable, and inexhaustibly resourceful. In this way Therapon finds in dialogue not only its medium but its fascination, a sense of setting forth in friendship, and in friendship the mercies of the strange."This maze of poem we are led through-or not led, encouraged through-offers many threads to follow: 'one day a needle drags a filament / that in time dissolves like a sun on its passage.' That two authors can so coordinate their views of a world as to produce such lovely lyricism is itself a wonder, but that the resulting vision becomes, as binocular viewing always engenders, both multi-dimensional and convincing, is a continual gift continually opening before us. More than therapeutic, the book is a delight and a discovery." - Bin Ramke, author of Earth on Earth

THINE explores shifting iterations of the poetic self, both in body and in perspective, within the context of rapidly changing landscapes in the American West.THINE's observational approach draws together ecopoetics with art and myth, turning a skeptical eye toward predictions of both apocalypse and hope. In conversation with artistic renderings of and against the self in the West-Agnes Martin's grids, Willa Cather's letters, Walter di Maria's The Lightning Field-these poems find beauty in the impermanence of land, animals, and people. THINE meditates, with affectionate irony, on what it means to make new lives in the midst of the unknown.

The poems in Night Logic deal with queer coming-of-age and desire, as well as the persistent impact that childhood trauma can have on queer relationship-building. Focusing on the speaker's longing to be seen, as well as his frequent desire to hide, Night Logic charts the speaker's journey out of the closet and into an adult world that is both daunting and liberating at once. These confessional poems use the natural imagery of the speaker's childhood to evoke longing and loss, as the landscape around him functions as both mirror and conduit. Again and again, the poems analyze the role that the closet has played in his struggles with self-articulation, as well as his parents' divorce and the ways in which that rupture disorients him in his search for connection (romantic or otherwise). Night Logic explores the psychology of suppression in lucid, cinematic detail, presenting an elegant portrait of the pain that often comes with individuation.

Central to Sleep Tight Satellite is the theme of queer chosen family. This positive form of connection contrasts with violent pseudo-communities formed by policing, government control, and technological surveillance. Characters struggle to survive the pandemic, but their survival skills were honed long before the Covid-19 outbreak. There's a gritty realism to the odd jobs characters take to survive, and the ways they create loving communities of mutual aid.

Set against the backdrop of a changing urban landscape, the poems in Tender Machines swing between the domestic and the surreal, charting motherhood, desire and an immigrant family's haunted inheritance. Mapping the lives of women and the lives they inhabit, poems such as "Small Essays on Disappearance,"-which channel the aftermath of motherhood and 9-11-collide with aubades describing mornings in a ruined city: "buying food at the bodegas...nectarines and skin-tight plums." The poems in Tender Machines live in the space between the public and the private, braiding an intimate narrative. This is an intersectional portrait of womanhood with all its losses, departures and wonders.

Sappho: The Surviving Fragments, Complete and Newly TranslatedDan Beachy-Quick writes, "There are depths within the denotative life of Greek words that English seldom allows readers in translation to access. At some basic level, I wanted to offer a translation that traced out some of those complexities into an apprehendable substance in the poems themselves-sometimes by allowing an image to unfold more fully than is the norm, at other times by giving some sense of a word's complicated life, the compound nature of the Greek language, or by translating the same line in multiple ways. The hope, far-fetched as it might be, is to give a reader in English some semblance of how an ancient Greek listener might hear these songs. I've also veered away from the various traditions of ordering the poems. I've clustered them into groups that seem to loosely trace the entirety of life, from childhood to older age, from the birth of desire to the fear of no longer being desirable. In a quiet way, I mean the book to read as a kind novel, a bildungsroman, so that a larger sense of the life-the poem of the life-becomes palpable. "

"Natasha Sajé's quicksilver, wideawake poems in The Future Will Call You Something Else never fail to delight and impress me with their at-the-ready empathy, encyclopedic wit, and prismatic range of allusions. With its 'all systems go' verve and vigorous attention to the myriad world, this dazzling, exhilarating new book is a treasure and a wonder."-Cyrus Cassells

In this stunning collection, Chee Brossy forges a poetics of wonder, dailiness, and transformation. Here, the "sugar cane Coke" and "the leafy houseplant[s]" of the speaker's daily life, those artifacts of routine, are revealed as glimpses into all that is unknowable, subtle reminders of "today's mystery." Indeed, Brossy's work, with its understated approach and artful evocation, reads as a celebration of all that lies beyond what can be said in language. For Brossy, a meditation on the ineffable, with its innate poeticism and philosophical allure, is not merely an exercise in aesthetics; it is revealing of culture and of the body politic. Here, we witness questions of power, agency, and resistance bound up in what seem at first like simple acts of perception and aesthetic pleasure. "A red-tipped fox trots lazily out. The knives adjust themselves in the dishwasher," Brossy tells us in language that shines with lyricism and invention. He shows us, in fearful and loving detail, the "starlight vapor in our lungs" and the "terrible dust" within each one of us. "Strength runs through blood like horses," Brossy reminds us. This is a complex and ultimately transformative debut.

Sean Singer's radiant and challenging body of work involves, much like Whitman's, nothing less than the ongoing interrogation of what a poem is. In this way his books are startlingly alive... I love in this work the sense that I am the grateful recipient of Singer's jazzy curation as I move from page to page. Today in the Taxi is threaded through with quotes from Kafka, facts about jazz musicians, musings from various thinkers, from a Cathar fragment to Martin Buber to Arthur Eddington to an anonymous comedian. The taxi is at once a real taxi and the microcosm of a world-at times the speaker seems almost like Charon ferrying his passengers, as the nameless from all walks and stages of life step in and out his taxi. I am reminded of Calvino's Invisible Cities, of Sebald's The Rings of Saturn... Today in the Taxi is intricate, plain, suggestive, deeply respectful of the reader, and utterly absorbing. Like Honey and Smoke before it, which was one of the best poetry books of the last decade, this is work of the highest order.-Laurie Sheck

"I am stunned, delighted, and moved by the seamless merging of meaning and music that unfolds throughout The Future Perfect: A Fugue. Whether made up of one sentence or a dozen, each section of this long, single work stands on its own, as self-sufficient as a painting in a museum, while contributing to the whole masterful gathering. "This is an intricate work of decisive oscillation, of tender and careful attention shifting swiftly and precisely between the infinitesimal and the vast, and between one concrete reality and another, without ever losing its way: The house rages, but is not consumed. Ablaze, it stands as square and certain as a child's drawing. In each window: flames instead of curtains. "Such sure-footed writing is astonishing. It would be an understatement to point out that the reader rarely encounters such piercing visionary states, with the author highly alert to sound and syllable, while focused on meaning: Is it disillusion or dissolution that one experiences first? "Throughout, the author probes our capacity for perception: what do we see (the present), remember (the past), and imagine (the future)? And how do we understand them? What elevates the writing even more is the unmistakable passion and urgency pulsing throughout each of the poem's sections, the deliberate and inspired choice of every word."

'With an eye roving like a documentary camera, Brandon Rushton delivers a post-wonder diorama of the contemporary non-urban United States in which the vaunted American lawn is artificial; the food is full of chemicals; and "what haven't we / homogenized." The freedoms of childhood and adolescence are figured here as a kind of lost, damaged paradise before everyone erases themselves into their adult roles: the contractor, the customer, the detective, the pilot, the bank teller, the embezzler, the broker, the milkshake maker. Rushton's often interweaving lines serve as a formal objective correlative for our interwoven state in this world, which is composed of both the given and the made; the question of why on earth we have chosen what we have made is quietly fuming in every poem. "Honestly, the people / had hoped for more space / to feel spectacular." The news about that spectacular feeling isn't good, but knowing Rushton is out there watching, giving a damn, and writing his beautiful poems is reason for hope.'-Donna Stonecipher

"I write from a continuous space of erasure. Poetry was the one way that I was able to hold onto...my history, geography, and language." - Craig Santos Perez, contributorIn this groundbreaking anthology of Indigenous poetry and prose, Native poems, stories, and essays are informed with a knowledge of both what has been lost and what is being restored. It offers a diverse collection of stories told by Indigenous writers about themselves, their histories, and their present. It is a celebration of culture and the possibilities of language.Featuring forty-four poets, including Ishmael Hope, Bojan Louis, Ruby Murray, Simon Ortiz, Leslie Marmon Silko, Luci Tapahonso, Joy Harjo, dg okpik, Sherwin Bitsui, Heid E. Erdrich, Layli Long Soldier, and Orlando White.Original influence essays by Diane Glancy on Lorca, Chrystos on Audre Lorde, Louise Erdrich on Elizabeth Bishop, LeAnne Howe on W. D. Snodgrass, Allison Hedge Coke on Delmore Schwartz, Suzanne Rancourt on Ai, and M. L. Smoker on Richard Hugo, among others.And, a selection of resonant work chosen from previous generations of Native artists."There really is no better anthology out there that collects indigenous poets publishing from 1960 to the present." - Dean Rader, co-editor

"In The Lantern Room, her exquisite new collection, Chloe Honum moves, as her poems do, with range, precision, and astonishing beauty. Honum's speaker travels across Arkansas motel to motel, missing a beloved, and in the book's crown jewel, 'The Common Room,' chronicles an out-patient hospitalization in a psychiatric ward. The collection closes with sublime meditations on the speaker's mother's death: 'How will I live without her?' How, indeed. This book is that survival, and more than that, an extraordinary mind pressing through language to speak so deeply, so startlingly, the reader is made larger to receive its enormous gift: 'But I have rain in my hair. This much is true. Let me bring it to you.'"-Allison Benis Whit

Dujie Tahat's Salat is a book of poems written in a compelling new form of the poet's own invention that participate, fully - they praise, weep, spit, beg, laugh, choke, sing. In this murderous age it is increasingly unconscionable to be inert, in one's living or in one's art. Tahat tells us: "There's a river in heaven, and I am the star that belongs to it." Salat is boisterously, resoundingly alive.