Ghazal of the Flesh
“God, or a cell clot rooting in her walls: so I became this flesh.”
“God, or a cell clot rooting in her walls: so I became this flesh.”
One might read The Tradition in any of a number of ways: as handbook of craft, as creed, as as platform, as statement of aesthetic, as all of these, and yet more than all of these together. What is important, though, is that one read it, and read it again.
Here are four new poems we admire hitting magazines that speak to the vastness of cruelty, featuring work from Eloisa Amezcua in POETRY, George Abraham in Mizna, Aria Aber in The Adroit Journal, Stevie Edwards in The Journal.
“your legs may want to forget the name of this place, forget / how you rolled into it and swallowed its rain.”
“Like the skin / I tongued at the throat’s hollow— / that morning salt my favorite flavor.”
We’re honored to have had the chance to chat with the talented poet Cornelius Eady—here’s what he has to say about his journey of becoming poet.
“In the red brick room, my father cries. / His cries are small, lonely animals. / I carry them with me / like an inheritance.”
“Yo vi las mejores mentes de mi generación destrozadas por remesa madness. / Starving. 10 cent. Maruchán. Limón y Valentina slurpin’ paisas”
“A strange earth / for this staggered colony of desperate valiant specks. There is / no there, here.”