Oliver de la Paz
Broth of boiled cloth and acid hands, knuckles
raw from wringing suds and swinging denim

by fistfuls up and out of the basin. Grime
of steam and grease stains blotted out. Rows

of hangers on garment conveyors marching
shirt after shirt garnished in plastic and the heat

from the press to flatten out collars and sleeves.
In a different country I might have been royalty.

That glow of my skin in the heat, a hidden seal
on an envelope. I live in a republic of hangers.

I let the fabrics warm my blistered skin. I let
the presses rejoice in silks and the seersucker blazer.

Inside the roar of the dryer, I can shout
my name, perfect, sequined, and neatly pressed.
from the journal THE HOPKINS REVIEW
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I composed this thinking back on the days when my family had just arrived in the US after fleeing the Philippines after Marcos declared martial law. While we were waiting to get our lives together my family took on odd jobs. It’s one poem in a longer sequence of sonnets tracking my immediate and extended family’s journey as we tried to find a place where we could feel safe. This poem and others are forthcoming in a book entitled "THE DIASPORA SONNETS" (Liveright Press 2023).

Oliver de la Paz on "Diaspora Sonnet 55"
Stylised color image of a Harvard building
"Robert Pinsky on His Many Readings of Robert Lowell"

"Rejecting Life Studies on first encounter was partly a conventional reflex, an automatic dislike for inherited privilege. But the resistance I felt goes deeper, involving qualities of idiom and imagery, and—​even more—​their cultural implications. In the personal narratives and declarations of Life Studies, many readers valued a directness that for me lacked an antic, disjunctive quality I prized in American life and poetry." 

via LITHUB
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Cover of Marie-Claire Bancquart's book, Toute Minute Est Premiere suivi de Tout Derniers Poemes
What Sparks Poetry:
Jody Gladding on Marie-Claire Bancquart 's [—What did you say?  Lost empires,]


"Bancquart’s poems are spare, grounded, and, for all their attention to demise, surprisingly light. Just the thing for a pandemic. This poem with its 'lost empires' and 'catastrophes' counterbalanced by a shrinking soap bar seemed particularly suited to the moment. I was struck by Bancquart’s vertiginous shifts in scope/scale, producing the same effect they do in cartoons—making us laugh."
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